


a truth universally acknowledged

by softestpunk



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Grand Balls, M/M, Omegaverse, Tea, just the fantastic outfits and balls, possibly there isn't even a regent to speak of, silk waistcoats, so many cameos by other characters, this is also an alternate Regency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that an omega prince in exile must be in want of a husband.Forced to flee the outbreak of war in their homeland, omega princes Eivor and Sigurd travel to England into the care of alpha Ubba Ragnarsson. To secure their future there, Eivor must find himself an alpha husband to underwrite their presence in an enemy nation—before the social season is out.As a beautiful, charming, charismatic prince, Eivor foresees no difficulty attracting as many mates as he could want...... until the Duke of Templebrough calls him a pig.
Relationships: Eivor & Sigurd Styrbjornson, Eivor/Leofrith (Assassin's Creed), Sigurd Styrbjornson/Ubba Ragnarsson
Comments: 137
Kudos: 124





	1. Lothbrok House

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to give SO MUCH ACKNOWLEDGEMENT to [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/pseuds/quills_at_dawn) for: encouragement, sitting down to watch all of Bridgerton with me for inspiration purposes, coming up with a surname for Leofrith, and helping me tease out most of the plot threads herein. Thank you, my love <3
> 
> Also: this is both a Regency AU and an AU Regency. I am taking the window dressing and the fun bits and discarding the rest.
> 
> [There is also a Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/softestpunk/valhalla-bridgerton-au/), for anyone who enjoys visual references and/or looking at pretty coats.

“He must marry,” a low voice with a familiar accent murmured on the other side of the door. “I can only underwrite your presence here for so long. I am not English, Sigurd, not to these people. One of you will have to find an English alpha to secure a future for you both.”

“And no English alpha would have me,” Sigurd responded, and Eivor’s heart sank at the sadness to his words.

His marriage had been dissolved by their exile, Randvi’s father siding with the new king of Norway and taking his daughter back. It had perhaps not been the happiest—they had no children after three years, and Eivor understood that this was, in fact, for lack of trying.

But they had been friends. They had all been friends, and Eivor missed Randvi’s solid presence, and Sigurd had loved her, he thought. Not in the way that might have been easiest for both of them, but loved all the same. She was one more thing they had both lost coming here.

If Eivor could help it, they would not lose anything more.

Even if it meant a swift marriage to an English alpha.

“Eivor of the Raven Clan, Prince of Fornburg,” the footman announced on the other side of the door.

Ubba Ragnarsson’s London home was beautiful. The entrance hall was all dark wood panelling and heavy furniture, ornately carved, some of it from very far away, much of it familiar to him, the craftsmanship of his and Ubba’s people. The ceiling painted not with one of the Christian scenes of angels or something from a Greek myth, but with two valkyries poised above a battlefield, their golden wings spread so that all of the staircase was enveloped in their protective embrace.

Ravens carved of darkest ebony perched on either side of the staircase, their feathers gilded at the edges, their eyes shining with red stones that caught the light from the tall, narrow windows that framed the door.

Lothbrok House reminded Eivor of the palace he and Sigurd had been raised in, cozy enough to keep out the bite of the coldest winter.

England was in the throes of a very mild spring, and as he’d travelled here—after Sigurd, who had gone ahead—he had watched light rain fall on lush green fields and thought that, if he had to live in exile, this was not so bad a place to do it.

But it was a welcome change to be among the familiar after so many months of uncertainty. Ubba’s home even smelled like Norway, and the comforting scent of the older alpha hung in the air.

Eivor stepped into the room, high windows making even the dark furnishings look overly bright in the mid-afternoon sun, and smiled as his eyes landed on Sigurd.

The taller man beside him must have been Ubba.

Dressed head to toe in black except for his white stockings and his waistcoat, a deep oxblood embroidered in glimmering gold, dark hair neatly braided, faded tattoos just barely peeking over his collar and out of his sleeves, spilling onto broad hands wrapped around a too-fine teacup as he stood from the small table between him and Sigurd, bowing deeply.

“My prince,” Ubba rumbled, straightening and looking Eivor over with a critical eye before breaking into a welcoming smile. “You might have warned me your brother was as shining a jewel as you are, Sigurd.”

Sigurd’s proud smile unburdened Eivor’s heart greatly, joy at seeing his brother safe, happy, and settled shoving the last of his nerves aside.

They would make this place their home. If marriage was all it took, then so be it.

“Ubba Ragnarsson,” Eivor said, offering a bow in return. “Your home is as beautiful as your soul is generous. We cannot thank you enough for all that you have done for us already.”

“And yet I propose to do more,” Ubba said, open, smiling, enthusiastic. Handsome, in the way of a fully matured alpha, neatly groomed and warm of spirit.

Sigurd could have done much worse than another forgotten prince.

“Beginning with a ball in your honour, tomorrow night,” Ubba continued. “Before the rumours start.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve already started,” Eivor said, smiling back at Ubba. He was kind, kinder than Eivor had expected, given his reputation.

But they were all lost princes here, huddling for warmth in this strange land. It made all the sense in the world that Ubba should enjoy having more of his kin around him, distant as they may have been.

“You are already the talk of London, little brother,” Sigurd spoke up. “Everyone wants to know about the young, eligible omega prince here for the season.”

Despite his better judgement, Eivor’s heart swelled at the thought. Aside from improving his prospects for a good match, he liked to be the centre of attention. There was no shame in that—he _was_ young and eligible, he had every right to the attention.

“He likes that,” Ubba said, silver eyes gleaming with approval.

It was almost a shame Ubba would not do for him—a touch old, perhaps, but as good a match as Eivor truly expected to make.

Not many would take on an exiled prince with a too-small dowry. He would have to settle either for minor nobility or a second son—just enough to secure their place—or someone much less pleasant.

But that was a problem for future days. Today he would rest, tomorrow evening he would enjoy his first ball in the safety of Ubba’s home, and then he could make a plan of attack going forward. He would find an alpha, the best he could, and he would learn to love them, and he and Sigurd would be safe.

That would be enough.

❧

“But you _must_ come with me to Ubba Ragnarsson’s ball, I cannot attend on my own,” Maetild pleaded, eyes wide and soft and tugging on Leofrith’s heart strings as she played him like a finely-tuned harp.

She’d always had him wrapped around her little finger.

“Why would you want to attend?” Leofrith asked. “You are happily married. Pregnant, even,” he added, glancing at his sister’s belly and smiling fondly.

He was going to be an uncle. The sound of children would fill the halls one day soon.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about these two new princes?” Maetild asked, eyebrow raised.

“No,” Leofrith lied.

Of course he was curious, the whole of London was curious.

But his curiosity was unbecoming at best. Prurient.

He understood they were both in exile. Surely they’d had a hard enough time without the whole of London society crashing down on them to gawk, poking their noses in where they were neither desired nor useful.

“Not even with young Ceolbert spending the season with them?” Maetild asked innocently.

“Ceolbert?” Leofrith looked up from the pattern of her dress to meet her eyes, already sparkling with victory.

He would have liked to think it premature, but he’d lost the moment his younger sister asked anything of him. He’d never been able to refuse her.

“Didn’t you hear? The Ragnarssons have become quite friendly with his father. So you have that in common, a mutual friend. Surely you must be curious _now_?”

Twice as curious now. Instantly worried for Ceolbert, too. He had no doubt Ceolwulf had his reasons for sending the boy to London with Ubba Ragnarsson for the social season, but he neither knew nor, naturally, trusted the man yet.

Ceolbert he did know, and had always felt protective of. As Ceolwulf’s sole heir, there was much weight on his young shoulders. Leofrith had taken the boy riding and fishing, and thought of him—perhaps unwisely—as something very near to a nephew.

Leofrith did not know the weight of being an heir, but he _did_ know the weight of being a new-made duke, the first of his name, and he imagined the burden to be similar in heft if not specifics.

“Besides, every eligible omega in London will be there tonight,” Maetild continued, and Leofrith knew better than to point out that this was almost certainly an exaggeration. “And you are yet to find a mate.”

“I—”

“Do not wish to speak of it, I know,” Maetild said. “But you are the first Duke of Templebrough. You must sire an heir sooner or later, or lose the line entirely.”

Leofrith knew this. He knew that without an heir his title would fall into disuse. Without an heir, he could not secure his sister’s future, or her child’s.

But he also knew that an aging, injured alpha with a newly-granted title and a fortune that came entirely from prizes of war instead of centuries of work was not a desirable match for most. _He_ , Leofrith, the man who was the duke, was also not a desirable match. Large for an alpha, dangerous, scarred. Ungentle, by his appearance, though he had never hurt an omega in his life and would not, not ever, not for anything.

No. No, he had no intention of marrying. Or rather, no intention of humiliating himself on the marriage market, vying for the attention and affection of omegas who would not want him.

His heart couldn’t take it.

“It would make me so happy to see you married.” Maetild pouted. “Our children ought to grow up together,” she added, cradling her belly and swaying side to side.

Leofrith swallowed.

“Promise me you’ll dance with one omega tonight,” Maetild said. “Just one. One little omega. We’re quite harmless, you know.”

Omegas were not harmless. Omegas were the most dangerous creatures on God’s green earth, as far as Leofrith was concerned. He’d taken beatings, he’d been shot—his shoulder would never be the same again and he was still recovering his strength from the infection and fever that had come from it.

But all of it paled in comparison to what an omega could do. Wrench a man’s heart from his chest with a word.

He’d seen it. He’d seen better alphas than he fall to pieces over omegas they’d trusted with their hearts. He’d seen his own father waste away when his mother was gone.

And now he saw the look in Maetild’s eyes, and she was his sister, not his mate, but she too was an omega, and she too could destroy him. One tear from her would see him raze England to the ground to make her smile again.

He had no intention of humiliating himself on the marriage market during the social season, with all eyes on him and only ridicule, rejection, and humiliation to gain.

An heir—and therefore an omega or perhaps a beta—was a necessity, yes, but he would not make a public fool of himself to find one. No, he would make a quiet arrangement with someone to whom it would be amenable to be well provided for and largely left to their own devices. A writer, perhaps, or a poet. They would be grateful for the chance, he thought, to marry into money, even if it were new.

Outside of the season, away from London, and without the risk of giving his heart away to someone who might swallow it whole.

“I…”

“ _One_ dance,” she insisted. “For me?”

Leofrith swallowed again.

“Very well,” he said. “One dance.”

❧

Eivor laughed delightedly as the young alpha—Ceolbert—spun him around the dance floor with a broad grin on his face, and did not stop laughing until they each bowed to one another and stepped away for the next dance, flushed and glowing.

This ball was what he needed in more ways than one. After months of hardship, fear, and uncertainty, an evening where Eivor had no greater concern than who would be his next dance partner was a welcome distraction.

“Careful, brother,” Sigurd said wryly as Eivor reluctantly let Ceolbert go with one final squeeze of his hand. “He will think you’ve set your heart on him.”

“If he were old enough to marry, I might,” Eivor admitted. “He is sweet, and charming, and he shows an interest in things he does not know. A good mate, for someone, some day.”

“Would you want to wait for him?” Sigurd asked.

“It would not matter if I did,” Eivor said. “But no. He is lovely, and I wish to be his friend, but I have not given my heart away so easily,” he added, leaning back against the same table Sigurd was propping up, letting their shoulders brush together.

A striking pair, Ubba had called them.

He had been right. Many, many people here were struck by the two of them—Sigurd more than Eivor, he thought privately. Sigurd was always the more striking, with his colouring and his taste for brighter clothing than Eivor would choose.

He looked stunning in his teal velvet coat and breeches, hair braided neatly, beard shaved close so as to show off the red of it without leaving him looking unkempt. His waistcoat matched Eivor’s suit, the same pale rose that brought out both of their eyes, and Eivor had matched Sigurd’s teal with a cravat knotted high on his neck.

They had always liked to wear touches of one another, but it served a dual purpose tonight—a subtle indication that they came as a pair, that the one thing Eivor would not tolerate was separation from his brother. Any alpha who wanted him would have to be willing to support Sigurd as well, until such time as he remarried—if he ever chose to.

Eivor was not so sure he would choose to, if he could avoid it.

He wanted Sigurd to be able to avoid it. He’d lost so much already, Eivor couldn’t bear to see him lose more, and so many alphas stole the spark from their omegas, turned them into tired, worn-out husks of their former selves.

That would not happen to Sigurd. Whatever Eivor had to do to prevent it.

“You do not give your heart away at all,” Sigurd said.

Eivor laughed. “I have more need of it than any alpha might. They must make do with the rest. I am not searching for love, brother,” he said. “I am searching for security. For us.”

 _For you_ , he did not say, because he did not wish to make Sigurd feel like a burden. Sigurd was not a burden—he was the only person who could lay any claim to Eivor’s heart. He was the only person who ever would.

Omegas who gave their hearts to alphas were fools.

Sigurd snorted. “One day, Eivor, you will find someone who makes you ache to be with them.”

“You speak as if from knowledge, but you too have guarded your heart,” Eivor pointed out. He understood why Sigurd felt the need to say these things. Sigurd didn’t like to imagine Eivor in an unhappy marriage of necessity as he had been.

But Eivor was not Sigurd. He would choose his alpha carefully, one who was not repulsive to him and who he could respect, and they would have a solid, productive marriage that worked for all parties.

He merely needed to determine which ones he had to choose between. A quick scan of the room offered up many potential candidates.

Younger alphas who would be eager for marriage and swayed by the chance to claim the hand of a foreign prince, exiled or otherwise. Alphas who would thrill at the adventure of the unknown, and who could yet be shaped and moulded into acceptable partners.

Older alphas, who by now were concerned about the production of an heir, who would see Eivor in his prime and consider him a wise investment—even if he came with a brother.

There was much to consider, Eivor thought, as his gaze lingered for a moment on the tallest man in the room, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, standing by a small, pretty omega who he obviously doted on, but who was not his mate. Their body language was all wrong. More like his and Sigurd’s. A sister, perhaps?

“My heart does not require guarding,” Sigurd said wryly, snapping Eivor’s attention back to him. “It is not nearly as desirable as yours.”

“Oh no?” Eivor asked as Ceolbert returned, hand extended, to offer Sigurd the next dance.

“I would not wish to wear Eivor out,” Ceolbert explained himself. “And I rather think we ought to show you off as well, Sigurd. You look very fetching in that colour.”

Sigurd laughed, and accepted Ceolbert’s hand, and it was a balm for Eivor’s soul. “Perhaps _I_ will wait until he comes of age,” Sigurd teased with a wink as he let himself be led out to the floor.

Left to his own devices, Eivor let his gaze sweep the room again, and once more landed on the tall, dark-haired man he’d noticed earlier.

Staring directly at him.

The thrill of excitement rose in Eivor’s belly like bubbles in a glass of the champagne these boring English couldn’t handle seeing an unmated omega drink in public. He nodded, politely, to the large alpha—and he had to be an alpha, there was no mistaking his stature, the way he carried himself, and the way other people looked at him.

With Ubba otherwise occupied he had no one to tell him who this man was, but he could just as easily find out for himself.

Picking his way through the crowd was a delight for the senses—brushing up against soft, pretty omegas clad in silk and velvet, although it was a disappointment to find that they all covered their scents with perfumes. Eivor _liked_ the scent of other omegas, and he had to assume English alphas felt the same way, so what was the point? More of their inexplicable modesty, perhaps, like the gloves they wore everywhere for fear they might make contact with another’s skin.

It was just as well Ceolbert had been sent to Ubba. He would learn to be unafraid of the sight of an omega’s bare fingers, at least.

“The Norse prince, the blond one,” Eivor overheard from the tall alpha’s companion as he approached, pausing to listen in. “He’s very pretty, isn’t he? Very much to your taste, Leofrith. You ought to ask him to dance.”

Leofrith, then. Eivor smiled to himself at the name, saying it to himself silently, rolling the syllables in his mouth.

Yes, that was an acceptable name.

“You would have me dance with a pig in a bow,” Leofrith said as Eivor stepped forward, aiming to ask for that dance after all.

All the warmth he’d felt moments ago turned instantly to ice.

 _A pig in a bow_.

A pig! In a bow!

How _dare_ this uncouth, ill-dressed, overlarge brute of an alpha say that about him? He was a _prince_. The man should have been begging at his feet for Eivor to so much as acknowledge him.

Leofrith turned at that moment, his eyes meeting Eivor’s.

They widened satisfyingly.

“Do you often dance with pigs, my lord?” he asked mildly, batting his eyelashes as Leofrith’s companion—certainly his sister or sister-in-law—covered her mouth with one delicate gloved hand.

Leofrith’s mouth had fallen into a perfect O, his dark eyes still wide with fear.

“Your majesty,” he blurted out. “Please forgive me, what I meant to say was—”

“Silence,” Eivor held up a hand, surprised even at himself. Blood pounded in his ears as Leofrith’s words sank in.

Was that what these people thought of him and Sigurd? As livestock, no better than animals, worthless for anything but breeding, uncultured, without value?

Was that what they all saw in him? A _pig_?

Very well.

If they wanted an animal, they would see a wolf.

Leofrith, out of either good sense or shock, fell quiet, looking sheepish. At least he had the decency for that.

“I would say a pig would suit you, my lord, since you are dressed like a farmer,” Eivor said, a vicious hiss that betrayed too much of his heart, too much of his panic, though he could not stop himself.

They hated him.

They hated him, and Sigurd, and did not want them here. There was no safety to be found, no security, no acceptance, and perhaps not even tolerance. Ubba had said as much. He was not so well-tolerated that he could even extend it to two omegas who had done nothing wrong but be born in a foreign land.

“But you have neither their manners, their charm, nor their sense of grooming,” he continued.

It was harsh, too harsh perhaps for delicate English sensibilities, but he had been through enough and he would not take more.

“And I would sooner dance with one myself than I would with you. With or without a bow.”

It wasn’t until he stopped speaking that Eivor realised two things.

Firstly, he had been speaking much more loudly than he intended to, raising his voice to be heard over the din of the ball.

Secondly, everyone else had fallen silent, and the weight of their gazes crashed down on him like snow falling from a mountainside.

He forced himself to stand firm as he realised his mistake, but could not help feeling relief as the familiar warmth and scent of Ubba moved to stand behind him.

“Your grace,” Ubba said, laying a hand on Eivor’s shoulder and squeezing lightly, steadying him even as his head spun at what he’d just done.

This was a misstep. Leofrith—his _grace?_ —was an alpha, he could afford to make a mistake like this and it would be forgotten by the morning.

But Eivor, Eivor was an omega, and these English liked their omegas meek and mild.

He had utterly ruined his chances with many of them, and he knew it.

“Allow me to be the first to introduce you to our visiting prince,” Ubba added. “His majesty, Prince Eivor of Fornburg. Eivor, this is Lord Mercer, Duke of Templebrough,” he finished, chewing awkwardly on the foreign placename.

Leofrith—Lord Mercer—opened and closed his mouth a few times before ultimately deciding to keep it shut as Eivor glared coldly at him.

This was his fault, and Eivor would bear the cost.

“Forgive me, Ubba,” Eivor said, turning to face him. “I find myself still exhausted from the travel and the excitement. I believe I will retire.”

Ubba nodded, understanding and sympathy written all over his kind, handsome face.

“Of course. Shall I send Sigurd with you? Or Ceolbert?”

Eivor shook his head. “Let them enjoy themselves. I must rest alone. Good night, your grace,” he added, turning to nod at Leofrith in lieu of the bow he might otherwise have been entitled to expect.

“Good night, your majesty,” came the soft response.

If there was a hint of anguish in Leofrith’s tone, then he deserved the feeling entirely.


	2. Yellow Roses

“They may yet come,” Ceolbert said from the delicate settee he and Sigurd were perched on, amicably going through the morning newspaper together.

Eivor peered through the lace curtains again, glaring out into the square beyond, willing a carriage to pull up.

But of course, it didn’t.

Not one single caller this morning. Of course not. He had made a scene.

He had utterly destroyed his chances of securing any but the most desperate mate, and a desperate alpha could not be trusted.

“They will not,” Eivor said, turning away from the window in disgust, dread churning in his stomach.

“No one will heed the opinion of a newly-made duke for long,” Ubba said, sipping his tea. So even, so steady.

It was a shame, Eivor thought, that he could not simply marry Ubba.

“Newly-made?” Eivor asked.

Ubba nodded. “For his military service, no less. Your duke was not even a gentleman before he was elevated by the king himself.”

“He is not _my_ duke.”

“No?” Sigurd asked without looking up. “You were going over to ask him to dance, were you not?”

Eivor almost took a breath to ask how Sigurd knew this, or what had caused him to come to the conclusion, but of course Sigurd knew him.

“He was very much to your taste, brother,” Sigurd added, the barest smile playing around his lips.

He was right, and he knew it. The duke was everything Eivor looked for in an alpha—tall, broad, handsome…

… mostly those things, if he was being honest with himself. Perhaps he would pretend to another that he was excited by kindness or gentleness or an evenness of temper, but his attraction, in this case, was solely related to Leofrith’s sheer size.

An alpha like _that_ could do things to him that a smaller alpha could not, and he had explored his own tastes well enough to know what he wanted.

“I’m quite sure Leofrith meant no offense,” Ceolbert spoke up, earnest gaze meeting Eivor’s. “He is a good man, Eivor. Kind and humble.”

“There are only so many ways to interpret being called a pig, Ceolbert,” Eivor pointed out. He could not reason what he had done to offend the duke so badly—perhaps he truly was so unattractive to English alphas, after all.

He wanted to ask Ceolbert, but the remainder of his dignity prevented him.

“That is true, and I cannot account for it,” Ceolbert admitted. “It is so unlike the man I know that I cannot reconcile the behaviour. I am sorry that he hurt you, Eivor. Ubba is right, no one will pay a man of Leofrith’s status much heed for long.”

Eivor sighed.

They did not have _long_. Every day they remained in England without a sufficiently important English alpha to secure their place, they risked being run out all over again.

Eivor couldn’t bear the thought of running once more. Where else did they have to go? The American colonies, perhaps. So far from everything they knew, with no allies to count on once they arrived. They would be plunged into the unknown, and likely into poverty, and he knew what happened to omegas who had no means and no protector.

“By the time we arrive at Lady Elmenham’s ball tonight, all will be forgotten,” Ubba assured.

“But wear the blue suit, brother,” Sigurd added. “Just in case.”

Sigurd had always thought blue suited him best, and the oyster grey waistcoat Eivor often wore with it had a twin in Sigurd’s wardrobe. Eivor thought that suited Sigurd, too.

They would do well to look their best after last night.

Lady Elmenham was a Dane married to an English marquess, and Eivor knew it was no accident that she should be throwing a ball the very night after Ubba’s. He had managed their social calendar to suit them to best advantage, and Eivor was grateful to have such an ally on his side.

“You would look very fetching in blue, I think,” Ceolbert spoke up.

“Eivor would look _very fetching_ in a hessian sack,” Sigurd said, smiling wryly. “Whereas I must imitate a peacock to draw any attention at all.”

That was not true, and never had been. Of the two of them, Sigurd was much more striking—he commanded attention in any room he entered.

Though Eivor was willing—if unhappy—to admit that his brother’s current mood made him shrink into the background. He was like the flame of a nearly-exhausted candle, small and on the verge of guttering out.

The past few weeks had been harder on him than Eivor, but Eivor was determined to see his brother happy again. Smiling and laughing and larger than life, as he had always been.

“Speaking of looking your best,” Ubba said, draining his teacup and rising from the table. “I have a gift for each of you. That ought to cheer you up, Eivor.”

If anyone else had suggested it, Eivor would have objected that he was not the sort of omega easily distracted by trinkets. But this was Ubba, and Ubba had been unspeakably kind to them, and Eivor would do nothing other than graciously accept a gift.

Sigurd rose from the settee, moving to stand beside Eivor while Ubba went to the drawer of the desk he kept in this room and removed two small boxes.

“It would honour me if you accepted these as tokens of my friendship. And an assurance that I will do all in my power to see that you are taken care of.”

Ubba offered the first box to Eivor, opening it up to reveal a small gold ear cuff, delicately patterned with a carving that spoke of home, and Eivor did not need to force his gratitude or admiration.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, before he had finished reaching that conclusion.

“May I?” Ubba asked, meeting Eivor’s eyes.

Eivor nodded eagerly, letting his eyes fall closed as Ubba’s gentle fingers fixed the cuff in place, allowing himself a small moment of happiness and relief.

They had Ubba. They had Ceolbert, and his father. They were not without allies.

An arrangement could be made. A good arrangement, with an older alpha—a widower, perhaps—who had use for a decorative young omega on his arm and the means and will to support a second.

Eivor watched as Ubba fitted the second cuff on Sigurd’s ear, watching the way his brother’s throat worked as he swallowed and not missing the slight tilt of his head toward Ubba’s hand.

The door to the drawing room opening startled him out of enjoying Sigurd’s happiness.

“A gentleman to see you, sir,” the footman announced. “Lord Mercer, the Duke of Templebrough.”

❧

Leofrith shifted his weight uneasily between his feet as he waited in front of Lothbrok House, the paper wrapped around the flowers he’d brought with him crinkling in his nervous grip.

Maetild had helped him choose them—where _helped_ here meant that she had chosen, and Leofrith had accepted her wisdom. Roses in yellow—the colour of friendship, she assured, not romantic attention—pale pink peonies, and ranunculus that tied the two colours together, ranging from bright pinks to afternoon oranges, the colour of the setting sun.

His belly tightened as a servant answered the door. Apologies were not his greatest strength, and he had offended _a prince_ , of all people.

“Leo—uh, Lord Mercer, the Duke of Templebrough,” Leofrith announced himself.

He was still unused to the title. “Looking for—uh, to see Prince Eivor,” he said. “If he’s…”

He’d been half-hoping to leave the flowers and his apologies with one of the household staff, but instead he was shown into the entrance hall of Lothbrok House and struck anew at the strangeness of it all. It was as though he’d stepped out of England entirely and into a foreign land, but he supposed that Ubba Ragnarsson _was_ a Dane, that he would want to cling to his heritage in a place that was hostile to him and his ilk.

He barely heard himself being announced, but then the doors to the drawing room were thrown wide open, and he found himself face to face with Ubba, another red-haired, striking omega, Ceolbert—a welcome surprise…

And Eivor himself. Peering at him with those ice-blue eyes that seemed to see directly into his soul.

Leofrith held the flowers out in front of him like a shield.

“My lord Mercer,” Eivor said, offering a low bow that managed to mock so clearly that the tips of Leofrith’s ears burned. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit this morning? Perhaps you’ve come to compare Sigurd to a farm animal as well?”

The redhead—Sigurd, Leofrith presumed—crossed his arms over his chest.

“I have come to offer an apology,” Leofrith said, aware that he deserved this.

“Why?” Eivor asked. “Either you spoke falsely last night, or you speak falsely now, and I should not accept the apology of a liar. Besides, I am a mere pig to you,” he added. “Why could you possibly want to apologise to me?”

“Eivor,” presumably-Sigurd chided softly. “Let the man speak. Ceolbert has vouched for him.”

Leofrith glanced at Ceolbert, sure he was showing his unfettered gratitude for everyone in the room to see, but uncaring. He was grateful that _someone_ had spoken in his defence.

Eivor raised a pale eyebrow, but gestured for Leofrith to step into the room proper.

“These are for you,” he said, offering the flowers and breathing a sigh of relief when they were accepted without complaint.

“Your sister chose them,” Eivor said without missing a beat.

“Yes,” Leofrith agreed. No sense in pretending otherwise.

“You ought to pay her more heed.”

Leofrith forced himself to hold his tongue a moment so it couldn’t get him into any more trouble than it already had.

“This is my brother, Sigurd,” Eivor introduced, taking a step back to indicate the redhead. “I believe you know Ceolbert, who, as Sigurd says, has spoken in your defense, and Ubba, who has told me no one will give any weight to your opinion.”

Leofrith glanced at Ubba, who gave him a look that suggested he knew Eivor was being difficult, but that there was no reason to expect him to be otherwise.

He was _very_ pretty.

Leofrith’s experience was that omegas who were pretty, and knew it, were inclined to be difficult.

“But I would hear you speak in your own defence,” Eivor said magnanimously.

Ceolbert gave an encouraging nod.

“I… you misunderstood me,” Leofrith began.

All three pairs of eyes behind Eivor widened in alarm, and Leofrith realised he was making yet another misstep as Eivor raised one blond brow and his lips thinned.

“I misunderstood you,” Eivor repeated. “Because I am too stupid to understand, of course? Or because you think I speak your language so poorly that I might be fooled into thinking your words meant something other than they did?”

“No!” Leofrith held up a hand, then lowered it quickly so as not to look threatening. “No, I… what I mean to say is, I was not speaking of you. I…”

He was loathe to explain his situation, but no apology, he was beginning to realise, would make sense without revealing at least some of it.

“My sister is very concerned about my marriage prospects,” he admitted.

“She should be,” Eivor said. “If that is how you speak of omegas.”

“That is _not_ what I mean,” Leofrith said. “What I meant by what I said was that it would not have mattered to her whether or not you were pretty, or at all what I was looking for, it only mattered to her that I dance with _someone_ , as I had promised her. My complaint was unfair to all of the lovely omegas present, but it was not directed at you.”

He wondered if it was worth saying that he did, actually, think Eivor was stunningly beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful omega he’d ever seen, or whether that would be taken as flattery.

Eivor pursed his lips.

“You see, Eivor?” Ceolbert spoke up bravely. “He meant no harm by it.”

“Whether he meant harm or not no longer matters,” Eivor said, although his posture had changed, become less defensive. “It matters that he is the _only_ visitor we have had today and I do not have time to repair the reputation that _he_ injured.”

Leofrith thought that Eivor could perhaps not have torn a strip off him in public, if he was so concerned about his reputation, but he was wise enough not to say so.

Besides, as he had thought to himself yesterday, Eivor and his brother had just fled a war zone, they were in exile in a strange land, and the only ally they had was Ubba, a man who himself was not wholly accepted in society by all. Short temper and thin skin were both to be expected.

He remained silent as Eivor sniffed at one of the roses in the bouquet before handing them off to a vase-bearing Ubba, suddenly looking much smaller than he had when he was telling Leofrith off. He was _tiny_ , the smallest person in the room by a head, both thin and fine, narrow waist emphasised by his beautifully-tailored coat.

The last thing he had of his former wealth and status, Leofrith suspected. It made sense that he would be sensitive about his appearance—not because he was not pretty, but because _being pretty_ was all he had left.

“And now he comes here dressed as though he is about to shoot foxes and tells me that he did not mean to call me a pig.”

Leofrith looked down at his clothes. This was the second time Eivor had mentioned them, though he could not see what was so offensive about his dress.

“Your apology is acknowledged, my lord,” Eivor continued, sighing. “But unless you are proposing to marry me yourself, it does nothing to solve the problem.”

Panic rose in Leofrith’s chest.

Marry him himself.

 _Marry him himself_.

It was a joke. It had to be. No prince—and certainly not one so uncommonly beautiful—would want a man like Leofrith. A man who’d already gravely insulted him, for a start. Even if he hadn’t, a man who had no lineage, a title he hadn’t broken in yet, who ranked far below even a prince in exile, and who obviously displeased him was _not_ the husband for an omega like this.

Leofrith did not consider himself lucky, and it would have taken more than luck to win a prize like Eivor.

All he wanted from this encounter was for Eivor to know that he had not intended to hurt him. The thought of hurting an omega was too much to bear.

“I… your majesty, I do not—”

“You would not have me?” Eivor asked, brow inching toward his neat braids.

There was no good answer to that question, and Leofrith knew it.

The sound of the drawing room door bursting open behind him was the sweetest he had yet heard in any of his thirty-four years.

The next sound chilled him to his core.

“Is that you, Leofrith?” the newcomer enthused in an all-too-familiar voice. “How quickly you recover!”

❧

“You are supposed to be in Ireland,” Ubba said, stepping around Leofrith to put himself between the newcomer and everyone else in the room.

The newcomer was barely Eivor’s height, dressed as though he had recently rolled out of the second-floor window of a brothel into a hedgerow, and badly scarred across the face.

Eivor did not need an introduction to this man. This was Ivarr Ragnarsson, the youngest of the Ragnarssons.

“And leave you alone with two unmated omegas? What would the neighbours think if they knew?” Ivarr asked.

“That is why Ceolbert is here,” Ubba said.

Ivarr burst into laughter and sidestepped his older brother, swaggering to a halt in front of Eivor and Sigurd and looking them over with undisguised interest.

“Ubba, where are your manners,” he demanded. “Which one of the two is Eivor?”

“I am,” Eivor said, determined not to be treated as though he was a horse for sale by a beta who reeked of scotch. “And this is my brother, Sigurd,” he added, feigning politeness.

“You ought to kiss me, Eivor,” Ivarr said. “For I have come to solve all your problems.”

That drew the attention of everyone in the room. Ubba most of all, alarm passing over his face.

An alarmed alpha was not something to be taken lightly.

“You need a husband who can take care of you,” Ivarr continued. “I am such a man.”

Eivor bit his tongue to stop himself from saying that Ivarr was a beta.

Many good people were betas, and he may yet have need to settle for one.

But not _this_ one. Surely not. Surely there would be someone else?

“You do not have the means,” Ubba said. “You cannot offer the protection they need.”

“Not here,” Ivarr agreed. “But Halfdan wants this one,” he added, nodding to Sigurd. “And I will take the other. Back to Ireland. Out of your hair. You can go back to living as a sad bachelor by the end of the week, these two will be safe and provided for, Halfdan gets that heir he needs, everyone wins.”

Eivor couldn’t help noticing that Ivarr had not said everyone would be _happy_.

“Halfdan?” Ubba asked, looking between Sigurd and Ivarr.

Sigurd, too, looked between the Ragnarsson brothers, eyes shuttered.

“Me?” he asked after a moment.

Ivarr looked him over again. “I can’t say I understand it myself,” he said.

The hair at the back of Eivor’s neck rose. How dare Ivarr insult Sigurd so?

“I would choose that one,” Ivarr added, nodding to Eivor. “But then Halfdan wants something Eivor cannot give him.”

Eivor frowned. What could Halfdan Ragnarsson want that only Sigurd could give? Surely not an heir—there was no reason to believe either of them less capable than the other.

If it was a question of Eivor marrying Halfdan, then he might have done it without a second thought. The man more than had the means to care for them—yes, they would be further away from their home, but why should that matter any longer?

But he did not wish to force Sigurd into a marriage. Not again. Sigurd had suffered enough, and he deserved the chance to look for love this time, if he chose to look at all.

“It is not up to you to choose, Ivarr,” Ubba said. “It is up to Eivor and Sigurd to make their own choices.”

Kind as Ubba’s defence was, it did not change the reality that Eivor’s choices had been whittled down to the slimmest few possibilities. He had no suitor. He had no _time_. Perhaps only until the end of the social season, while he was still a novelty. Once the novelty wore off, though, and the war raged on regardless, his and Sigurd’s position would be even more tenuous.

He looked, again, at Ivarr. Would it be the worst fate?

“I am willing to entertain Halfdan’s suit,” Sigurd said. The tremble in his voice would have been imperceptible to anyone but Eivor.

Sigurd was brave. Had always been brave.

But he had already suffered being married to an alpha he did not love in the way that was best suited for marriage. Eivor had held him after his wedding night as they both sat in silence, the beautiful roaring flame his brother had always been doused down to a flickering candlelight on the verge of being drowned in its own pool of wax.

He did not wish to see Sigurd like that again.

“Brother, we should discuss this,” Eivor said, stepping closer to Sigurd, putting his body between him and the rest of the room to shield him from it.

“What about you, Leofrith?” Ivarr asked, turning to the duke, who he was clearly on first-name terms with. Strange that Ubba had not said as much. “Which one are you here for, hmm?”

Eivor had very nearly forgotten that Leofrith was in the room at all. But now he’d heard all of it. Heard enough, anyway, to know how precarious their situation was.

It left Eivor feeling as exposed and vulnerable as he had been since he had fled Fornburg with Sigurd under cover of night, fearful of being caught, terrified that it would all go wrong until Norway’s familiar mountains disappeared behind them. Until England’s white cliffs appeared in front of them.

Until he had stepped into Lothbrok House and felt as though he was safe, for a moment. For long enough to catch his breath.

But it had all been an illusion.

“I…” Leofrith began, looking between all four of them as though he was hoping for a rescue. “I must take my leave,” he finished, proving that he was capable of learning from his mistakes.

“Thank you for the flowers, my lord,” Eivor said before he could think better of it. It would do no harm for Ivarr to think he had at least the one suitor, that he had options, that he would not be so easily forced into marriage. “I hope we will see you at the ball tonight.”

“Leofrith,” Ivarr said, eyes lighting up with interest as he turned to face him fully. “I didn’t think you had the balls.”

Leofrith straightened to his full height. “We are in mixed company, Ivarr,” he said.

A curl of something he would have preferred not to feel coiled up in the pit of Eivor’s belly.

Ivarr laughed, loud and boisterous, finishing with a snort. “Oh, you know _nothing_ of our omegas. Just as well Eivor should marry someone without your delicate English sensibilities. You wouldn’t know what to do with an omega if one appeared naked in your bedchamber.”

“Ivarr,” Ubba growled, a dangerous sound that made everyone in the room—even Leofrith—pay attention.

Ivarr rolled his eyes dramatically. “I am off to my apartments. Think on my offer, Eivor. Unlike this one, _I_ know my way around the space between your lovely thighs.”

Eivor doubted that very much, but Leofrith’s—and Ceolbert’s, no doubt—sense of propriety had suffered enough for the one morning.

Leofrith stared after Ivarr as he left, then apparently came to his senses, clearing his throat deliberately. “Good morning, your majesties. Master Ragnarsson. Ceolbert,” he said, bowing as he backed his way through the door.

Despite himself, Eivor smiled.


	3. The Arrangement

“We’re already so late,” Maetild worried as Leofrith handed her down from the carriage. “We should have left earlier.”

He still didn’t know what he was doing here, except that the prince had asked him to attend, and he’d felt powerless to refuse.

The title he now held meant nothing to _him_ , but it meant everything to his sister. Not just in terms of the access to society it granted her—though Leofrith had always thought she ought to be treated like a lady, and had done his best to ensure that she was—but in terms of security.

If it was to mean anything, if it was to _provide_ security, then he was obliged to fit in.

But his mind was elsewhere, still reeling with everything he’d seen and heard this morning at Lothbrok House.

He did _not_ like to think of Prince Eivor being left to the mercy of a man like Ivarr Ragnarsson. Sharp though his tongue may have been, no omega deserved that fate.

And now here he was, standing at the threshold of another Dane stronghold. Lady Elmenham, his sister had explained, was a Dane alpha who’d married Oswald—the only heir to a much more ancient line, but an omega.

“I believe it is fashionable to arrive late,” Leofrith said, though he didn’t so much _believe_ this as he remembered hearing it said once and had thought at the time that it made for a useful excuse.

The look Maetild gave him suggested that it wasn’t quite sufficient, but she took his arm anyway and followed him into the fray.

This, Leofrith thought, was worse than a battlefield in some ways. At least at war, enemies were clearly distinguishable from allies, and the worst that could happen was death.

Aside from Maetild, he could not be sure any person here was his friend—or even indifferent to him—and humiliation, disgrace, and other horrors were commonplace.

He would have preferred, on the whole, to be shot again.

“You must find the prince,” Maetild said as soon as they were inside, nearly bouncing on Leofrith’s arm with excitement. “He did invite you, after all.”

Leofrith had known, as soon as he mentioned Prince Eivor’s question to him about the ball, that he had made an error.

But he was here now, among the crush of bodies, the silks and perfumes and gold buckles and tiny lemonade glasses and people who’d never known a day’s hardship in their lives, and he could not make an escape without at least allowing his sister a turn about the room.

“It was more an order than an invitation,” Leofrith said, though this did not explain why he had chosen to heed it after ignoring the invitation from Lady Elmenham herself.

He should not have been ignoring such invitations. He should have been striving to make friends, as many friends as he could.

It was simply _difficult_. Difficult to know what to wear, how to act, whom he could trust—or even talk to without causing himself some unforeseen problem. He had made _one remark_ the previous night and done such damage that the leaden stone of guilt still weighed heavy in his belly over it.

The Elmenham residence had about it some of the touches he’d noted in Ubba’s home—ravens, again, or crows perhaps, and the ornate knotwork he’d come to associate with Danes though also saw on Irishmen. They had done trade for some time, and he wondered if that was merely something else they’d traded.

But this was first and foremost an English home, and had been at its establishment, and he was marginally more comfortable here.

“You still owe me that dance you promised last night,” Maetild said.

It was true. After the incident with Eivor, they had both left in as much of a hurry as Leofrith could manage without breaking into a sprint, and so he had not danced with anyone. Not even _one little omega_.

“You ought to seek out the prince,” she continued. “To show there are no hard feelings between you.”

She was, as always, right. Not only for his own reputation, but for the repair of Eivor’s—especially as he now realised the harm he had been involved in doing to it was greater than he had first imagined.

For an omega like _that_ to even consider a beta like Ivarr…

As though summoned by the very thought of him, Ivarr appeared in the corner of Leofrith’s vision. For a gut-wrenching moment, he thought Ivarr was heading for him, but soon realised that the man’s attention was focused behind Leofrith—so focused, he didn’t even seem to see him.

As Ivarr strode past—two or three arm lengths away but still close enough to smell the stink of booze on him—Leofrith watched him push his way through the crowd with single-minded purpose, a worrying gleam in his eyes.

With dawning horror, he watched Ivarr approach a familiar blond who had, up to that moment, been minding his own business by the drinks table.

❧

The nauseating scent of stale beer reached Eivor’s nose before he caught sight of Ivarr stalking through the crowd toward him, and his stomach dropped.

He glanced around for a conversation partner, but Lady Elmenham was across the room, her husband hanging onto her every word, Ceolbert was dancing with a pretty omega who had captured all of his attention, and Ubba and Sigurd were nowhere to be seen.

“Prince Eivor,” Ivarr said, mocking. “Where are all your admirers? Shouldn’t you be surrounded by alphas ready to sink their teeth into each other for a chance to rut against you?”

“If you mean to shock or insult me, you will be sorely disappointed,” Eivor said, aiming to make his disinterest clear. “How is it that one Ragnarsson can be so charming when the other is…” he paused, looking Ivarr up and down and doing nothing to hide his disgust. “This.”

“Ah, so it’s _Ubba_ you want?” Ivarr laughed. “Why not say so? He hasn’t gotten his knot wet in years, he’d trip over himself for a chance to bury his nose in your bed sheets. You ought to watch what happens to them.”

Eivor rolled his eyes. Ivarr, he would actually have expected that kind of behaviour from. But not Ubba. There was a gentleness to Ubba, and Eivor could have imagined a satisfactory marriage between them, though that was a road he would have to leave unwalked.

The problem with Ivarr was that his offer was almost viable. Halfdan _was_ established in Ireland, well-respected. But if sanctuary there hinged on Sigurd agreeing to marry him, Eivor wanted to find another way. If they gained nothing else from their exile, at least, _at least_ he should be able to allow Sigurd to do as he pleased, for once.

They were no longer princes, no longer beholden to the whims of their father or the needs of their clan. They were a clan of two now.

Eivor had promised himself that he would do whatever it took to protect Sigurd, to defend him. Sigurd had done enough for him, and he was well and truly due some repayment.

“You are drunk, Ivarr,” Eivor said. “Go home.”

“ _Ivarr_ , am I?” Ivarr’s eyes lit up. “Such intimacy when we have known each other for so short a time. I think that bodes well for a good marriage, don’t you?”

Eivor bit his tongue—something he suspected he would need to do a lot around Ivarr—and allowed himself a moment to think before he made another scene.

“If you want me, Ivarr, you will have to win me,” Eivor said diplomatically.

“Prince Eivor,” a Dane interrupted.

Eivor turned his attention to his savior, taking in chestnut hair, neatly braided, and more visible tattoos than either Ubba or Ivarr had. The other man bowed low, and offered his hand.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to dance with me.”

Relief flooded Eivor’s chest. Good. Ivarr _did_ have competition, even from another beta who Eivor suspected was of no practical use to him outside of this dance.

“It would be my pleasure,” Eivor said, allowing himself an appreciative once-over.

He did not object to betas in the least when they were polite, well-groomed, and not trying to intimidate him into marriage, and this one was acceptably handsome. Under other circumstances, he may well have gotten more than a dance out of Eivor if he had wished for it.

“You must be one of Lady Elmenham’s brothers,” Eivor said as he was led out onto the floor.

“Correct. You must call me Broder, we’re all friends here.”

“Eivor, then,” Eivor nodded. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“Rescue?” Broder asked, brow raised, but Eivor could read in his eyes that he knew exactly what he had done. A good man, then, not about to insist on recognition for being a knight in shining armour.

“Thank you for the dance, then,” he said instead as Broder twirled him—with more enthusiasm than art, but the attempt was appreciated, and by now having _anyone_ show an interest in him had to be of benefit.

He had stood alone all night, dreading the thought that he may already have run out of options.

“The pleasure has been mine,” Broder said, bowing deeply. “Perhaps we’ll… _dance_ , again, later?”

Eivor laughed—genuinely, and not _at_ Broder, either. “Please believe me when I say I wish I had the freedom to take up such an offer,” he said. “Gods know I could use it.”

Broder smiled, and that too was genuine, and Eivor was assured that he had taken the polite refusal well.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he teased.

“I can guess,” Eivor said. “Thank you again, Broder,” he added, stepping away.

“May I call on you?” Broder called after him.

“You may,” Eivor responded. “But I cannot marry you.”

Broder offered him one final, wry smile as he wove his way through the crowd, suddenly overwhelmed by the assault on his senses. Was he approaching his heat? Surely not, surely…

Gods, he’d lost track. Perhaps Sigurd would still know, perhaps he’d had the good sense to keep a record in the chaos and upheaval of the last few weeks—perhaps that very upheaval had knocked them both off-cycle.

In any case, he needed air, and his mind was focused only on the spill of stars against the black velvet of the sky as he stumbled out of the house and into the gardens, breathing in a lungful of air made fragrant by night-blooming flowers, cool and refreshing.

Passing a small crowd standing in the spill of light from the house, Eivor tucked himself into a darkened alcove where no one was likely to find him and allowed his eyes to fall closed as the coolness of the stone at his back soothed him, drawing the heat out of his body. He would not have been surprised to learn it was rebelling against him, but for the moment, everything was quiet and calm.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, whatever mate he found for himself would prefer to live in the country. After just three days in London, Eivor was tired of it. The noise, the smell, too many people and not enough stars to look upon, not enough space to roam in.

How any omega could stand it for long was a mystery to him. Were they simply more accustomed? Or afraid to tell their mates that they would be happier away from here?

What he’d seen of England from the window of his carriage on the way here was beautiful—lush green fields, gentle rolling hills, quaint little villages that made him want to stop and wander and explore. He would have liked to _enjoy_ England, and her mild winters and easy summers, to taste the rain falling on her fields and lie in her grass under the shade of her ancient oaks.

The crunch of a leaf underfoot startled Eivor out of his fantasy, the familiar smell of stale beer assaulting his delicate nose again.

“Eivor!” Ivarr enthused. “Out here all alone?”

Eivor looked around and saw that he was, in fact, all alone now. The small group that had been by the door before had dissipated, leaving the garden courtyard empty but for the two of them.

The gleam in Ivarr’s eyes did not bode well.

Ivarr closed the distance between them before Eivor could react, blocking any exit Eivor might make. The only way past him was through him.

“Ivarr,” Eivor said, glancing once more at the door, hoping against hope that someone would notice him missing at just this moment.

Nothing.

“Looking for someone?” Ivarr asked.

“Broder,” Eivor said, thinking on his feet. “Was getting water for me,” he lied.

“Interesting,” Ivarr said. “I saw him dancing with his brother-in-law just moments ago. Perhaps he has forgotten you?”

_Damn_.

Ivarr tutted, soft and sympathetic and wholly false.

“Poor Eivor,” he said, hand rising, and it took all of Eivor’s will not to flinch away as rough fingers alighted on his cheek, stroking at the cropped hair of his beard there. “I would _never_ forget about you,” he added. “I have come to win you.”

Eivor swallowed.

He should have known better than to issue a challenge to such a man—he should have known he would be taken up on it. He should never have allowed himself to be alone and vulnerable.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

“Ivarr, please.”

“Shh,” Ivarr murmured, leaning ever closer. “Quiet, little raven, and this won’t hurt.” He sneered. “Much.”

❧

Leofrith pushed his way past the crowd to follow Ivarr into the garden just in time to hear the crunch of bone and an ungodly shriek.

A moment later, Ivarr stumbled backwards out of a darkened alcove, blood spilling down his chin and murder in his eyes.

“You broke my fucking nose!” Ivarr screeched. “I will _kill_ you.”

Eivor. Eivor was in that alcove.

Leofrith’s heart leapt into his throat as he rushed forward, pulse pounding in his ears as Ivarr lunged.

He knew what Ivarr was capable of, and he was suddenly more afraid for Eivor than he ever had been for anyone.

His fingers closed around the collar of Ivarr’s coat just in time to stop his fist connecting with a stunned Eivor, and he threw him aside with a roar, putting himself between the two Danes as the sharp stench of frightened omega filled his senses and a growl rose in his chest.

“Leofrith!” Ivarr enthused as though he was greeting an old friend, blood spilling down his chin now, making him look feral and dangerous. “Finally, someone worth fighting.”

Ivarr rushed forward, and Leofrith would have stepped aside and let his momentum carry him into the wall behind, except that Eivor was there, and he was protecting Eivor.

Instead he took the hit, hissing as Ivarr’s fist connected with his nose and a sharp spike of pain shocked his whole body.

But Ivarr had made a mistake. He had gotten within striking distance, and he had not taken Leofrith down with his first blow.

A second roar echoed off the stone walls around them as Leofrith threw himself at Ivarr, driving his good shoulder hard into the other man’s chest, sending him flying to sprawl on the paving stones as a crowd began to spill out of the house to see what was going on.

Ubba Ragnarsson pushed his way to the front, looking between Ivarr and Leofrith, and sneaking an anxious glance at Eivor behind him, too.

Ivarr moved to get up, only to have Ubba’s boot planted firmly on his chest in short order.

“Stay down,” Ubba growled, turning to Leofrith to nod at him.

Before Leofrith was done processing that he no longer needed to fight, the gentle touch of a hand on his arm startled him.

Eivor. Eivor’s hand.

He swallowed.

Another misstep, he thought. Eivor had likely not wanted a great brute of an alpha to come rushing to his defence, to cause another scene, to growl and roar and posture and indeed injure the younger brother of his current protector.

“Lady Elmenham,” Eivor greeted as their host strode over, the crowd parting ahead of her. “Could we trouble you for somewhere to clean up?”

Lady Elmenham nodded once, then turned on her heel.

If Eivor had not tugged on Leofrith’s arm, he may have stood staring for the rest of the night. As it was, he followed them both into what seemed like a disused study and watched as Eivor accepted a cloth and a bowl of water from one of a matching pair of Dane betas, who flanked the half-closed door.

“This water is cold, my lord,” Eivor said as he pushed Leofrith onto a leather settee by the single window. “So you must be brave.”

Leofrith huffed a wry laugh, his eyes falling closed without his input as Eivor raised the dampened cloth to his nose, dabbing at where Ivarr had broken the skin, wiping the blood away in gentle strokes.

“You need not do this for me,” he said after a moment, though he had no desire to give it up. Now that the scent of fear was gone, the prince smelled sweet, and his hands were soft.

Leofrith was, perhaps, still dizzied from the blow.

“It is the least I can do,” Eivor murmured. “Since you were injured in my defence. Defence you need not have rushed to.”

“You were frightened,” Leofrith said.

Silence fell for a moment, long enough to make Leofrith open his eyes and watch Eivor wring the cloth out, soaking it again as he returned.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Yes, I was frightened.”

It had taken a lot, Leofrith realised, to admit that. As much as it would have taken him—more, perhaps. He had become accustomed to fear after years on the battlefield.

Eivor, too, knew war. He must have. One did not escape a war without first being touched by it.

But he had not had time to become comfortable with fear.

“And I knew I could make it stop,” Leofrith said simply. He would have acted just the same in the defence of any omega. He would not have known how to behave otherwise.

He hissed as Eivor dabbed once more at the broken skin, the sting of it like a lightning strike.

“You know Ivarr,” Eivor said.

“Yes,” Leofrith agreed. “I have had run-ins with him before. The scar on my cheek,” he added before he could think better of it.

Gentle fingers traced the scar in question.

“Ivarr did this?” Eivor asked.

Leofrith nodded. “Yes. During a boxing match he was losing. He had a piece of glass hidden in his fist, as revenge for the last match he’d lost to me.”

“You are a boxer,” Eivor said, something suspiciously like delight in his tone. “I suppose you would make a good one.”

“Aye, sometimes,” Leofrith agreed. “That was before the war.”

“A long time ago,” Eivor said. “Ubba tells me your dukedom was granted for military service. You must be quite the warrior.”

“The king believes so,” Leofrith said.

The sound of the cloth being dunked and wrung out again punctuated Eivor’s next silence.

“You do not?” he asked eventually.

“I believe I survived,” Leofrith said.

“You are too hard on yourself, I think,” Eivor said, running the cool cloth over Leofrith’s face. The blood must have been gone by now—the touch was too gentle to be of any use in cleaning—but Leofrith was not inclined to give up this strange moment just yet.

He had not been touched like this in a very, very long time.

“Are you really in so poor a position that you must consider Ivarr?” Leofrith asked, emboldened by Eivor’s gentleness.

“Yes,” Eivor said, and there was no hint of a lie in his voice. “Yes, I am.”

“Thanks to me,” Leofrith said, defeated. He still did not feel their exchange was wholly his fault, but he was an alpha. He could shrug off such an incident.

Omegas were held to different standards. He knew this.

“Not really,” Eivor said.

Leofrith’s eyes opened in surprise, meeting the ice blue of Eivor’s for two heartbeats before Eivor looked away.

He really was very pretty.

“Then what?” he asked, since Eivor was not rushing to leave, or telling him off.

“I am a difficult prospect,” Eivor began. “A prince, yes, but of a kingdom that no longer exists. Ubba is too, you know, and Ivarr. Their father was a king.”

Leofrith had not known that.

“Sigurd’s father was a king,” Eivor continued. “Now he is a prisoner. A prisoner in a gilded cage, but a prisoner nevertheless. Sigurd and I escaped that fate by coming here, but…”

“But you brought little with you,” Leofrith said, beginning to understand. “And we are at war with Norway.”

“Yes,” Eivor said, worrying the cloth between his hands. “An exiled enemy prince is not a good match for most, and our presence will not be tolerated here forever unless there is someone with enough influence who wants to keep us here.”

“And Ubba Ragnarsson is not such a man?”

“He has no influence but his wealth here,” Eivor said. “He has no title, no sway. If he insisted on defending us when the king or one of his lords wanted us gone, he too would be driven out. He is kind, and generous, but he is not enough.”

Leofrith watched as Eivor dropped the cloth back into the bowl, noticing then that there was a streak of blood on Eivor’s forehead.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, standing, already reaching for the cloth.

Eivor frowned at him, reaching up to touch his forehead and then frowning harder as his fingers came away bloody.

“Ivarr,” he said with the hint of a growl. “I headbutted him.”

Leofrith blinked. Yes, he remembered Ivarr howling in pain, and that must have meant Eivor had struck him somehow, but he hadn’t registered the thought until now.

Eivor had headbutted Ivarr.

Well, Ivarr had been right about one thing. Leofrith, evidently, knew nothing of Dane omegas. Or Norse ones. Eivor had made that distinction, hadn’t he?

“Do you think you really did break his nose?” Leofrith asked.

“I have been accused of having a very hard head,” Eivor said wryly.

Leofrith kept his opinion on the matter to himself.

“So perhaps. He certainly bled like…” Eivor trailed off, looking up to meet Leofrith’s eyes, a smirk turning up one corner of his mouth. “Like a stuck pig,” he said, pursing his lips as his eyes glittered with mirth.

“I will never be allowed to forget that, will I?” Leofrith asked.

“Not for the entire length of our acquaintance,” Eivor promised.

Leofrith took it upon himself to dampen and wring out the cloth, moving slowly as he went to wipe the blood away from Eivor’s forehead, looking for any sign that Eivor did not wish to be touched.

When he saw none, he moved the cloth gently over Eivor’s shockingly pale skin, marvelling at the contrast between his work-tanned hands and Eivor’s porcelain complexion.

“What about the Dane you were dancing with earlier?” Leofrith asked. “Would he do? He seemed to like you.”

“Broder is very handsome and quite agreeable to me,” Eivor said, loud enough for his words to carry to the door, where they were met with a low chuckle and the sound of brotherly ribbing. “But he is still a Dane. He does not have the foothold here to sponsor Sigurd and I.”

“You must have an Englishman, then,” Leofrith concluded.

“Yes,” Eivor said, frowning again. “Ideally one who does not think of me as a farm animal.”

“I do not—” Leofrith began, but cut himself off at Eivor’s bright grin. “You are impossible.”

If anything, Eivor’s grin only widened.

It made the plan beginning to form in Leofrith’s mind seem both more and less ridiculous than he had initially thought it.

There was a way. A way to help Eivor—not only that, but a way to help himself, too. Something in it for _both_ of them.

Perhaps Eivor would say no. He likely would, even. It was not a plan befitting a prince, even a prince in exile, even a desperate prince in exile.

But now that the idea had occurred to him, Leofrith could not in good conscience fail to make the offer.

“Perhaps we can help each other,” he began, before he could lose his nerve.

Eivor’s gaze snapped to Leofrith’s, his interest clear.

“You need to draw the attention of the right alpha for your purposes,” Leofrith continued. “I need my sister to stop trying to force me to look for love among… this.” He gestured toward the noise of the ball downstairs. “If people believed that you and I were attached…”

Eivor’s gaze flicked across Leofrith’s features, a smile spreading slowly over his face. “Then I would be desirable, and you would be unavailable,” Eivor said, which was a much more succinct way of phrasing it than Leofrith could have hoped to come up with.

“Yes,” Leofrith said.

“And there is no danger we will be caught. People fall out of love all the time.”

“Exactly,” Leofrith agreed. He had given no thought to the possibility of being _caught_ —he had given this no thought beyond the initial idea.

But the more thought he _did_ give it, the better an idea it seemed. He would make up his past transgressions to Eivor, and Maetild would stop worrying about his marriage prospects until the baby came along and she no longer had time to fuss.

“And I have already made a spectacle of defending you. It would be easy to believe. People will forget the incident from last night immediately, once we give them something else to talk about.”

Eivor would find himself a suitable mate, and they would part ways amicably with both of them better off for the deception.

It injured no one, and benefitted two—three, if one counted Sigurd, four if one counted Maetild, who really could not afford to waste her nerves on her brother in any case.

“It is a good plan,” Eivor said, that delight in his voice again. “You would do this for me?”

“It is as much for me as it is for you,” Leofrith insisted. “I have no wish to seek out a love match.”

“No, nor I,” Eivor said. “You are wise, to keep your heart. You cannot get it back once it has been given away.”

“We are agreed, then?” Leofrith asked.

“Yes,” Eivor enthused. “Shall we…” he half-offered his hand, as though he was uncertain. “Shake on it? Do you do that?”

“We do,” Leofrith agreed, taking Eivor’s hand, but not to shake it—only to hold. “But I have a better idea,” he said. “I promised my sister I would consent to one dance, and I have not yet fulfilled that promise.”

Eivor’s entire face lit up. “Are you asking me to dance, my lord?”

A swarm of butterflies took flight in Leofrith’s stomach, but he had made up his mind now. He would go through with this.

“I am.”

❧

Every pair of eyes still present landed on the two of them as Leofrith led Eivor out onto the floor. Excitement welled up in Eivor’s belly, the thrill of the attention thrumming in his veins.

This was the _perfect_ plan.

“All eyes are on us,” Leofrith murmured, low and intimate, close enough only for Eivor to hear.

Eivor did not have to pretend to smile. “They are, my lord. Shall we give them something to look at?”

“Yes,” Leofrith said, taking his first steps with confidence, twirling Eivor around—with much more skill than Broder—and then catching his waist as he came back, gripping perhaps a little tighter than was necessary.

The ripple of gasps and laughter in the crowd did not escape Eivor’s attention.

“But I think,” Leofrith continued, still so soft, softer than Eivor had thought an alpha capable of speaking. “That if we are to go through with this, then you ought to call me Leofrith.”


	4. Silk Waistcoats

“Leofrith!” Eivor enthused the moment he stepped out of the carriage that had just pulled up, handed down gracefully by Ubba.

It had been a mistake to ask Eivor to use his first name.

Not because it was in any way improper—indeed, their ruse would be hard to believe if they remained overly formal with each other.

No, the problem was that Eivor pronounced it as though he was tasting a rare wine, his tongue curling around the syllables almost indecently.

“You sent flowers,” Eivor said, glowing at him as though Leofrith had genuinely captured his heart.

“Was that…”

“It was perfect,” Eivor said, before Leofrith could doubt himself too badly. “You are a gentleman after all.”

“Ceolbert did say so,” Sigurd said, also being handed down by Ubba, bright as ever in a faded plum colour and a teal waistcoat—he must have known how well it suited him.

Eivor was once again dressed in pastels with some of the most remarkably fine embroidery Leofrith had ever seen—but he noticed now that where an English omega might wear floral embroidery, something with seasonal flowers, the edges of Eivor’s coat were decorated with the same ornate knotwork he’d seen all over Ubba’s home, with the figures of two facing cats flanking the top buttons.

“You’re staring,” Eivor said softly, and Leofrith looked away with a sudden pang of guilt.

“No no,” Eivor beamed at him. “Keep it up. It’s all the more believable if you stare at me.”

Leofrith snorted. “Everyone stares at you.”

This must have been the right thing to say, because Eivor’s smile only broadened at it.

“How is your nose?” he asked, reaching halfway and then stopping himself, evidently remembering that they were in public.

“Bruised,” Leofrith said. “But it will mend. How is Ivarr’s nose?”

“We haven’t seen him since Ubba dragged him into the street by his ear last night,” Eivor reported.

Just as well, Leofrith thought. Eivor was not defenceless, but Ivarr was dangerous.

“That is just as well, I think,” Leofrith said. “Perhaps you did break his nose after all.”

“It wouldn’t be the first nose Eivor had broken,” Sigurd interrupted. “Are you two coming, or not?”

Dazed by the revelation that Eivor was apparently in the _habit_ of getting into fights, Leofrith followed without questioning, yet, why he was here at all.

He had received word from Eivor to meet here this morning, but no indication _why_ they were to meet—other than that Eivor wished to be seen with him.

That was such a novelty that Leofrith had not thought overmuch about it until he had arrived at the corner he’d been directed to and been uncertain why he was there in the first place.

It was with some surprise, then, that he found himself in a tailor’s shop.

Ubba greeted the owner—a beta with her greying hair tied into a neat, but unfussy bun—as Leofrith looked around himself with interest.

He had never, actually, been to a tailor before. Not one like this, in any case—he had only had his officer’s uniform made specifically for him, and that was not the same as high fashion.

“A whole new world for you,” Eivor said perceptively.

“Yes,” Leofrith admitted. “But why…”

“Because you are once again dressed as though you might set about milking your cows,” Eivor said, nodding to him. “You cannot wear a frock coat that looks like it belonged to your father in the city, Leofrith.”

 _Definitely_ a mistake to ask Eivor to call him that.

“No matter how much care your sister puts into mending it,” Eivor finished. “You cannot wear a frock coat at all, you must wear a tailcoat.”

Leofrith tried very, very hard to look like he understood what Eivor was talking about.

Eivor laughed.

Leofrith swallowed, shame rising in his throat. He was not fit to be seen with a prince, delicate and refined and aware of all these things, who expected so much of the people around him.

“Do not take it hard,” Eivor said, surprisingly gentle, his hand brushing against Leofrith’s elbow. “You have had no one to tell you this. No friend to help you,” he went on. “But now you do.”

Only the sudden dryness of his mouth made Leofrith realise that it was hanging open, such was his surprise at everything Eivor had just said.

“Friend?” he asked, with a measured dose of caution.

“Why should I not be your friend?” Eivor raised an eyebrow. “If you know something unflattering about your character that ought to discourage me, I would hear it.”

“I am prone to saying the wrong thing,” Leofrith said. “And I am told I do not know how to dress myself.”

“Hardly fatal flaws,” Eivor responded, looking Leofrith up and down. “You seem to have a brain in your head, and a sense of humour to go with it. You are an excellent dancer and you are acceptably handsome.”

“Handsome?” Leofrith preened.

“Acceptably,” Eivor repeated, but there was a smile playing around his lips. “You know yourself to be handsome, you do not need my flattery. What you _do_ need is my knowledge and taste,” he finished, nodding to a rack of silks.

Leofrith looked them over, squinting at each of three bolts he believed to be identical with the sinking feeling that they were, in fact, not.

“Very well,” he said. “I surrender myself into your hands.”

Eivor’s eyes gleamed with triumph as he stepped over to the silks, eager fingers already smoothing over them as he rifled through the rack, looking between Leofrith and the fabric as though he was planning a military campaign.

The field, silk waistcoats, the enemy, Leofrith’s sense of dress, the prize…

Well, a better-dressed suitor, Leofrith thought. That was why Eivor insisted on helping with this, it would look better for him if Leofrith himself seemed like a worthy catch.

“You do not strike me as a man who enjoys colour,” Eivor said as Leofrith risked stepping closer.

“I… have no opinion,” Leofrith said, glancing over at Ubba and Sigurd. Ubba, he noted, wore a black suit again, but this one was more heavily embroidered in gold and jewel tones. It emphasised his height and slimmed his waist, but it also, Leofrith couldn’t help noticing, made Sigurd look all the more striking for the contrast.

Eivor hummed, holding up a bolt of brocade silk in sage and gold, and a deep blue woven with silver.

“Gold, for you, I think. Your colouring is too warm for silver,” he said, setting the blue down. “And there is some green in your eyes. This would set it off beautifully.”

Leofrith took a breath to say something—without being sure _what_ —but Eivor spoke again before he could get a word in.

“I think you ought to have a pair of white breeches and a blue coat,” Eivor continued. “For day wear. With just enough gold braiding to remind people that you are the Duke of Temp-le-brof.”

“Templebrough,” Leofrith corrected automatically.

Eivor looked up at him, blue eyes narrowed sharply. “Temp- _el_ -brof.”

“Temp-el-broh,” Leofrith sounded out for him.

“I do not see that I am pronouncing it any differently than you are,” Eivor sniffed, though the faintest hint of pink coloured the ridges of his cheeks, and he looked back to the silks with too much interest.

He was embarrassed, and Leofrith had caused it.

“Perhaps it is simply your accent,” Leofrith said, though he remembered Ubba having similar difficulties wrapping his tongue around the word. “I am unused to it.”

“I am sure you will become accustomed,” Eivor said, ego clearly soothed.

Leofrith felt he was beginning to get the true measure of him now.

“May I ask something?”

Eivor turned his attention away from the soft fabric he’d been stroking to look up at Leofrith.

“Forgive me if this is too private a thing to ask, but what does Halfdan want with Sigurd that he cannot get from you?”

Eivor smiled wryly, reaching out to toy with the edge of a bolt of lace instead. “Legitimacy,” Eivor said.

“Legitimacy?”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord,” Eivor said. “But I am only a prince by title—I was adopted by King Styrbjorn after the death of my parents. Sigurd is a prince by blood. A _real_ prince.”

Leofrith looked to Sigurd again, watching as Ubba draped lilac silk over his shoulders, stepping back to admire him as Sigurd laughed.

It was hard to believe, of the two of them, that _Sigurd_ should be the blood prince. Sigurd was striking, yes, but Eivor seemed the more regal of the pair.

“You are surprised,” Eivor said, and he seemed happy about it.

“I am,” Leofrith agreed. “I would not have taken you for anything less than royalty.”

Eivor laughed. “Are you trying to charm me, Leofrith?”

“Is it working?” Leofrith asked mildly, allowing himself the slightest smile.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you may think. Now come,” Eivor said, grabbing his arm. “It’s time to make a gentleman of you.”

❧

“Have I satisfied you?” Leofrith asked as he settled at the too-delicate table in the coffeehouse, dwarfing the furniture with his height and breadth as though he was sitting down to a tea party with a child.

“For now,” Eivor grinned. “I have been accused of being insatiable before.”

Leofrith quirked an eyebrow, but was interrupted as their coffee and cake arrived, nodding his thanks and glancing warily at Eivor as though Eivor might suddenly choose to embarrass him again.

It was not impossible—he was developing a taste for teasing Leofrith—but would not do it too often for fear of damaging their budding friendship.

Eivor did not have so many friends in England that he could afford to lose one for the sake of his own amusement. Especially not one who could prove so valuable to him as Leofrith might.

Instead, he swiped some of the icing from his cake, making a happy sound as the sweetness melted on his tongue.

Leofrith sat back, holding his coffee cup in both hands as though it was a protective charm.

At one of the front tables, by the window, Eivor could see Ubba doing the same as he listened intently to whatever Sigurd was saying to him. He and Leofrith were more alike than either realised, Eivor thought. Ubba, too, did not have so many friends that he would not benefit from making another.

“I can imagine,” Leofrith said, a wry smile spreading over his handsome face. He _was_ handsome, and would be more so once his dress befitted his station.

“Shouldn’t you be telling me I am the most perfect omega ever to have graced this green and pleasant land?” Eivor teased. “That I am lovely and flawless and the most sparkling jewel you have ever seen?”

“You think enough of yourself for both of us,” Leofrith teased back, and Eivor couldn’t help grinning at him. “You know you are very lovely and do not need me to flatter you,” he added, turning Eivor’s earlier words against him.

Eivor squirmed in his chair, a thrill of excitement coursing through him. Leofrith, now that he was on even footing, could hold his own. Not many could against the sharp edge of Eivor’s tongue, even when he was teasing very gently.

Eivor sipped his coffee, and hummed.

“Not many omegas drink coffee,” Leofrith commented.

“Not many English omegas drink coffee because English alphas say things like _not many omegas drink coffee_ ,” Eivor said. “Look at Ubba and Sigurd.”

Sigurd was now laughing at something Ubba had said, both hands curled around his cup as it sat on the table, glancing out the window so the light caught the flame-red of his hair and made it look almost as though it were alight.

This was worth it, he thought. Worth it to see Sigurd laugh again, to allow him a chance at the happiness that had been stolen from him.

Eivor would not take a practical marriage as badly as his brother had. It would be no hardship for him, he was certain of it.

“You care a great deal for him,” Leofrith said perceptively. “Sigurd, I mean.”

“More than anything,” Eivor said, sipping his coffee again and forcing himself to look away from Ubba and Sigurd lest he get himself caught. “I have loved him since before I understood what love was and that will never change.”

“He cares for you, as well,” Leofrith went on. “I wonder…”

Eivor raised an eyebrow, encouraging Leofrith to continue.

“I wonder why it must be _you_ who marries, and not him. He is the elder, after all.”

“He has already been married,” Eivor said.

“Oh,” Leofrith said. “He is a widower, then?”

“In a manner of speaking. He is dead to his wife.”

Leofrith’s eyes widened.

Eivor sipped his coffee again, trying to decide how much to say. He did not wish to betray Sigurd’s privacy, but Leofrith needed to understand something of their situation.

“Our families came down on different sides of the war,” Eivor explained. “Randvi’s father dissolved her marriage to Sigurd and called her home just as the fighting began. This is common knowledge. What is not common knowledge, what you must not repeat, is that Sigurd was relieved. He did not love Randvi in the way an omega would ideally love an alpha they were married to. All three of us were the very best of friends, but…”

“But?” Leofrith asked, leaning in.

“This is not gossip, Leofrith,” Eivor said, sharper than he intended.

“I did not take it as such,” Leofrith said, voice gentle. “You seem upset.”

“Randvi did not want Sigurd, either,” Eivor said, wondering as the words passed his lips if he would regret them.

One glance at Leofrith’s face told him he wouldn’t. He could trust this man, and he _wanted_ to trust him. He had no one else he could speak to like this.

“She wanted me,” he finished, barely above a whisper.

Leofrith’s sharp inhale, not quite a gasp, was the most reassuring thing he’d heard in months. His hand moved across the table as if to take Eivor’s, and for a moment, Eivor wanted him to take it.

Instead of giving in, though, he kept his hands firmly clasped around his cup.

“Did she…”

“She kissed me, once,” Eivor said, chewing on his lip. He should not have said that, should not have admitted that he was anything less than pure and innocent to the ways of the world.

But Leofrith did not flinch. The concern in his eyes did not change to disgust, only remained steady. He was simply _listening_. Not judging.

“She should not have,” Eivor said.

“She should not,” Leofrith confirmed.

A weight Eivor hadn’t realised he’d been carrying lifted at Leofrith’s words.

“It must be me because I will not allow it to be Sigurd again,” Eivor said, finally answering Leofrith’s question outright. “Besides, I am clearly the prettier,” he added. “So I will have the better chance.”

Leofrith rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I suppose we’ll have to see about that. Should I be looking for any particular qualities in suitors for you?”

“I should like them to be tall, if at all practical,” Eivor said. “What else would I wish for? A country residence, I think. I would tire of the city eventually.”

“That makes two of us,” Leofrith said, picking up his fork in order to start on his cake. “I grew up in the country.”

“What did you do? Before you were one of England’s finest warriors?”

Leofrith looked up at Eivor as he took up his own fork, eagerly anticipating the delight before him.

“We were pig farmers,” he said.

Eivor’s laughter rang out so loudly that people in the street outside stopped to listen to it.

❧

“A moment of your time, Lord Mercer?” Sigurd asked as Leofrith held the door of the coffee house open for all of them. “Walk me back to the carriage.”

Leofrith raised an eyebrow, but offered his arm to the elder omega obediently as they turned toward the corner Ubba’s carriage was waiting on.

“I suppose you wish to ask me about my intentions towards your brother?” Leofrith asked, since that was the logical conclusion.

He had not formulated an answer to such a question, however, and he knew already that Sigurd was shrewd enough to detect an outright lie. Both of them had cleverness written in every line of their pretty faces.

“You will tell me they are honourable and pure,” Sigurd said. “You will tell me of Eivor’s virtues and how you admire them.”

“He does have many virtues,” Leofrith said, hoping he would not have to list any beyond Eivor’s obvious beauty. “And I do admire them.”

“As you should,” Sigurd nodded, apparently pleased with that answer. _He_ undoubtedly saw many more virtues in his brother.

Though Leofrith was beginning to see beyond the pretty face, into the troubled heart that cared deeply for Sigurd, and to the dry sense of humour that aligned more readily with his own than he would have anticipated.

There was more to Eivor than the spoiled prince he appeared to be. Much more.

Increasingly, Leofrith was beginning to genuinely wish him happiness, and to think of him as, if not a friend, then at least a partner in what felt like the very high crime of each of them fooling society into thinking they were something they were not.

“But allow me to issue a warning,” Sigurd continued, breaking Leofrith away from the memory of Eivor’s sly smile and eyes that glittered like new snow.

“A warning?” Leofrith asked.

“Yes.” Sigurd paused, looking up at him. “If you harm so much as a hair on my brother’s head, if you make him cry a single tear,” he said. “I will eat your heart.”

Leofrith was still staring when Sigurd left him to catch Eivor’s arm instead, watching them in stunned silence as they swished their way down the street, already both laughing at something one of them had said.

Ubba fell into step beside him, startling him into walking again.

“They have reason to be protective of one another,” Ubba said, giving away that he’d overheard. “They’ve been through so much in their young lives.”

“But he wasn’t serious,” Leofrith said, sure that such a pretty, refined, and otherwise sweet omega could not be _seriously_ threatening him, exaggerated or not.

Ubba looked at Leofrith, and then at the two omegas still strolling down the street, leaning on one another with greater ease than Leofrith had ever seen between two people before.

“I wouldn’t test him,” Ubba said. “The story goes that he pulled Eivor from the jaws of a wolf when they were children. Carried him four miles to help, at a run. Stayed with him and would not be moved from his sickroom until Eivor could come with him.”

Leofrith swallowed.

Would Sigurd be upset when their ruse inevitably ended?

He had given no thought to how things might go. What would happen when Eivor _did_ find a suitable someone and their attachment would have to be broken?

Leofrith would have to be the villain, wouldn’t he? But surely by then Sigurd would have been told that all this was for show.

Except…

Except that Eivor did not wish to hurt Sigurd any more than Sigurd wished to see Eivor hurt. And to save him that hurt, he wouldn’t let his brother in on the secret, would he? To know that Eivor had to go to such lengths to secure their future would pain him, if he cared as much as he seemed to.

For now, this play-act must have comforted him.

Leofrith had no more time to consider the problem before they were at Ubba’s carriage, Ubba handing Sigurd up and then climbing in after him, artfully leaving Eivor and Leofrith alone.

“Do you have an invitation to Lord Birstan’s ball? On Thursday eve?” Eivor asked, standing too close to Leofrith to entirely satisfy propriety.

In the shelter of the carriage the air was still enough and clean enough for Leofrith to breathe in his honeyed scent, sweet and inviting as all omegas were, subtle like beeswax and flowers that Leofrith couldn’t immediately place.

“I do not,” Leofrith said, keeping his instinct to scent him barely under control.

To think that Eivor should have _any_ trouble securing a mate regardless of his circumstances was almost unbelievable. He was the perfect omega—delicate, pretty, sweet-tempered when he was in good humour, as any alpha worth anything would aim to keep him. He was also clearly clever and easy to speak to, quick-witted and learned—though Leofrith knew some alphas would see that as a flaw.

They were wrong to think so. Who would want a dull omega? What would one _do_ with a dull omega? Marriage was for life and the appeal of the marriage bed would lessen with time, for alphas long before omegas, as Leofrith understood. There would have to be other qualities in a mate, qualities that made life with them a joy rather than a chore.

“Then I will secure you one,” Eivor promised with a bright smile that made his eyes glow like stained glass in morning light.

Eivor would be a joy, he thought. For the right alpha, he would be a joy to be married to until well into their dotage.

“You don’t—”

“I do,” Eivor said. “I will be close to my heat by then, and I must take advantage.”

Leofrith’s stomach sank. He understood what Eivor planned immediately, and he hated it down to the marrow of his bones.

“Is that wise?” he asked, reining in as much of the surge of savage protectiveness he felt at realising Eivor planned to risk being so close to so many alphas near his heat.

He knew, in his mind, that it was a good plan, that the advantage Eivor spoke of was real, that one sniff of an omega like him on the cusp of a heat would be enough to wholly ensnare many an alpha.

“To have half the alphas in London in thrall?” Eivor raised an eyebrow. “Of course it is wise.” He paused, licking his lips as his gaze flickered away from Leofrith’s for a moment.

Shame, Leofrith thought. Genuine shame, at being lowered to this, at having to display himself so openly.

“Will you come?” Eivor asked.

“Yes,” Leofrith said without needing to think at all. He would attend. He would be by Eivor’s side.

He may have need to lure alphas, but Leofrith would not leave him at their mercy. They would not have a chance to leer or touch. Only to want. That would be enough—that would be _better_ , since it would not risk Eivor’s honour.

“Good,” Eivor said, meeting his gaze confidently again. “Maetild, as well. I should like to get to know her.”

“She may faint with excitement. She has not stopped speaking of you since she first saw you.”

“A pity she is already married.” Eivor grinned. “She is very charming. And so pretty.”

“She takes after mother,” Leofrith said wryly. “I take after our father.”

Eivor laughed, but it was not a cruel laugh, and his eyes were warm again. “They must have been a handsome pair,” he said.

Blood rose to Leofrith’s cheeks, but he pretended to himself that he could not feel it.

“Eivor,” Sigurd called, knocking on the carriage window and making both of them jump.

Eivor chuckled again as Leofrith handed him up into the carriage, squeezing his hand before he let go. A thank you, Leofrith thought.

“I will see you Thursday eve,” Eivor called as the clip of the horses’ hooves began to sound on the cobbles. “Do not be late.”


	5. Heat

“There is talk already, you know,” Maetild said as she fussed with Leofrith’s waistcoat. “That you are courting the prince. People have seen you together.”

_Good_ , Leofrith thought. That was, after all, the plan.

Yet he could not help being nervous about this—dressed in silk and velvet, he looked so unlike himself that the man in the mirror seemed foreign to him, even as his beloved sister rested her head against his shoulder, eyes lit up as she looked him over.

“What do they say?” Leofrith asked, tugging on the bottom of his sage-and-gold waistcoat, the one he thought Eivor liked best of all. He was beginning to suspect the measurements were wrong—it fitted so closely that he was afraid of breathing too deeply for fear of popping a button.

He could guess the sorts of things people would be saying about his apparent interest in Eivor. The kind ones would pity him, he thought, for setting his heart on a prize he could not hope to win. The rest would sneer at him for having the hubris to even try his hand.

“They talk of your heroic rescue,” Maetild said. “Of how romantic it was.”

“It is not romantic to knock a man flying,” Leofrith objected.

“It is when it’s in defence of one who is defenceless,” Maetild said.

“Eivor is hardly defenceless,” Leofrith said, smiling to himself at the thought of him headbutting Ivarr—and other people, if what Sigurd had said was true.

Perhaps he should not have been so amused by that, but he had never met an omega like this one. Maetild, for all her strength, courage, and fortitude, for all her fine qualities, would not have headbutted a beta, or even another omega. Certainly not so hard that she broke their nose.

“No, but he is not at liberty to defend himself. You forget that he is an omega because he isn’t afraid of you, but you mustn’t. You hold a large part of his reputation in your hands, and reputation is all he has. All any omega has,” Maetild said.

“You have me,” Leofrith responded without thought. “And Roderick.”

“Yes, I am lucky to have a powerful alpha brother and a loving beta husband to protect me,” Maetild said. “Eivor is not so lucky. He has only the charity of a very distant relation to rely on, and one who is not half so well-placed as you are.”

Leofrith fell silent. He had begun to come to this conclusion himself, but hearing Maetild say it, hearing her _plead_ for an omega she had never truly met made it all the more obvious to him what Eivor was trusting him with. What he had no choice _but_ to trust Leofrith with.

“He would be very lucky to have an alpha like you,” Maetild added, making Leofrith snort.

“He can do better,” he said.

Maetild sighed. “You still do not see yourself for the man you are,” she said. “You are a duke. Now you even look the part.”

“Do I?” Leofrith asked, peering into the mirror again.

“You look very handsome,” Maetild said, pressing a kiss to Leofrith’s cheek. “But if you brood over it any longer, we will once again be late. You wouldn’t want to keep the prince waiting, would you?”

No, Leofrith thought. He would _not_ want to keep Eivor waiting, not tonight. Not now that he knew his plan, and dreaded all the ways it might go awry.

But all the same, as he handed Maetild up into their carriage, he found himself looking forward to the evening. To the thought of Eivor’s sharp wit and hard-won smile, and even the idea of being seen with such a pretty omega, one who would make other alphas envious.

Perhaps he was coming down with something. A brain fever, of some description, that was muddling his mind.

Tonight was Lord Birstan’s annual ball—a much-anticipated event, Maetild had told him, known for spectacle and wonder.

When they did finally arrive, it was to the sounds of raucous revelry and the sight of great braziers lighting the way, naked flames licking the velvet black of the night sky as performers wove between them, dressed as wolves and deer and playing at chasing each other—and the occasional guest who seemed up to joining in the fun—around the manicured lawns.

Far from the usual chamber music Leofrith had become accustomed to at events like this, the sounds of a reel floated on the breeze. The night air was pleasant, scented sweetly with the climbing jasmine that grew along the fences and over archways and orange blossoms that lined the front of the house, lending a softness to the otherwise severe straight lines of the villa.

Maetild had been right. Leofrith had never seen anything quite like it.

“You made it after all, my lord,” a familiar voice called, just loud enough to draw Leofrith’s attention.

He turned in time to see Eivor coming toward him, himself dressed in sage and cream with glittering gold beads braided into his hair, trailed by a bright-as-ever Sigurd and Ceolbert in a bright blue that spoke to his status more than his sense of taste.

Eivor—who, Leofrith realised, had dressed to match him—looked him over with an approving sparkle in his eyes.

“Look at you,” he said, reaching out to run his fingers over the velvet of Leofrith’s coat, fingers pausing on the embroidery at the cuff, tracing the shape of it. “I knew there was a duke under there somewhere, and I am pleased to be proven correct.”

Leofrith cleared his throat, pushing aside the budding swell of flattery he felt at Eivor’s words and gaze. “Thank you,” he said. “For your assistance.”

“I will have to keep you close tonight, lest I lose you to some prettier omega whose eye you catch.”

“You will not lose me,” Leofrith promised meaningfully. He had taken to heart what Maetild had said about Eivor’s reputation, and his role in guarding it. Shaming Eivor by allowing it to appear that his affections had wandered was out of the question—not least of all because it would do nothing to serve _his_ purpose, either.

Eivor stared up at him for long moments, the light of the braziers making his eyes look as though they were ice and fire dancing together, and for a moment it was enough to steal Leofrith’s breath away.

“I’ll start planning the wedding,” Sigurd teased, squeezing his brother’s arm as if to remind him where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. “Since you are no use to me, _I_ must ask Lord Mercer’s charming sister if there is yet room on her dance card for my name,” he added.

Maetild made a soft, high-pitched sound not unlike a mouse being stepped on, clinging even tighter to Leofrith’s arm.

Sigurd’s charming smile only widened, and Leofrith was beginning to see now that he was more naturally charismatic, more sincerely comfortable with people.

Eivor was different. Charming, yes, when he wanted to be, but there was a coolness to it—and therein lay the attraction. Sigurd was attractive for his warmth and openness, Eivor attractive for the opposite reason—the challenge.

That made their plan all the better, Leofrith thought. Having his affections apparently spoken for would make Eivor an even greater challenge. And he deserved, at least, an alpha who was willing to work for him.

He deserved better, Leofrith thought, than anyone who was on offer.

“Was that a yes?” Sigurd asked gently, moving to take Maetild’s card from her. Ceolbert lined up behind him once Sigurd had staked his claim, making Maetild blush all over again with his boyish charm, and Leofrith shared a grateful smile with Eivor.

Maetild had grown up dreaming of this—grand balls and being asked to dance by nobility and royalty—and Eivor was playing a key part in making that a reality. The bargain they had struck had more benefits than Leofrith had seen when he suggested it, and he was pleased that some of them were for his sister.

“I think I must also ask for a dance,” Eivor said. “Since I am not sure Leofrith’s stamina will hold out to my taste for it,” he finished as he also put his own name on the card, leaving Maetild speechless.

Two princes, and a future marquess, in one night. She would talk of nothing else for a week.

“Oh, I don’t think you have call to worry about his stamina, brother,” Sigurd said, looking Leofrith up and down with a quirked eyebrow that made blood rush to Leofrith’s face.

Ceolbert stared in disbelief, but Eivor only laughed.

“Come, my lady,” Sigurd finished, offering his hand to Maetild. “Let’s you and I show them how it’s done, hmm?”

Maetild followed Sigurd away, and after a moment of looking between the two princes, Ceolbert moved to follow, leaving Leofrith alone with Eivor.

Eivor held out his dance card. “Shall we put Sigurd’s theory to the test, Leofrith?” he asked, and Leofrith was quite certain that he was rolling the syllables of his name much more deliberately than his accent alone explained.

Leofrith sighed as he took Eivor’s pencil and bent to write on his card.

“How do I smell?” Eivor asked, causing Leofrith to misspell his own name on the ivory card.

He had been going out of his way to avoid finding out the answer to that question, and now looked at Eivor warily. This was not for _his_ benefit, after all, and he did not wish to feel he had violated Eivor’s trust in him.

If anyone should be safe for him tonight, it would be Leofrith.

“You must be dying to know,” Eivor said.

Leofrith _was_ dying to know, had been dying to know since Eivor had explained his plan.

“And _I_ must know if I am yet tempting enough,” Eivor added. “I trust your judgement. And I do not mind you scenting me,” he finished, low and soft and intimate.

He _was_ close to heat. It was obvious in the ease he had about him, the looseness Leofrith hadn’t seen before. Eivor had always been reserved, icy, but Leofrith could see the edges of that ice melting now.

He pushed aside a stray thought that he might like to swallow down the drips.

“You should mind,” Leofrith said, though with less conviction than he ought to have. “Propriety would have such an honour reserved for your mate.”

Leofrith wondered then how Ubba was going to stand it. He had never had a mate, as far as Leofrith knew, and he would soon have _two_ unattached omegas in heat under his roof.

It would be unbearable for him, Leofrith thought. He himself had been lucky that he’d had an omega sister and had been exposed to many heats before he’d grown to full maturity—his body was used to them, and he could control himself.

Eivor chuckled. “You imagine me far more innocent than I am, Leofrith,” he said, and there was absolutely no need for Leofrith’s name to sound in Eivor’s mouth as though it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

_I try not to think on your innocence or lack thereof at all_ , Leofrith wanted to say, but he had been raised not to lie.

“Tell me how I smell,” Eivor said, eyelashes lowered, cajoling, tempting, and dear god, if he was _half_ this forward with another alpha he would have them utterly, Leofrith thought.

He might have more than he bargained for. If his approaching heat was easing his inhibitions this much, he would need Leofrith’s watchful protection tonight.

But if the aim was to make half the alphas in London fall madly in love with him, then Leofrith could see now what a good plan it was.

Eivor tugged him further into the shadows—not so far that they were entirely hidden from view, but far enough that it would not be obvious what they were doing.

Leofrith swallowed, bent down, and inhaled, careful to keep his nose from actually touching the no-doubt sensitive skin of Eivor’s neck.

The scent that rose from him at this distance was heady and dizzying, the sweet musk of it filling Leofrith’s lungs like censer smoke. He was forced to swallow again as his mouth filled with spit, his heartrate kicking up, even his well-tempered instincts pulling like a bridled horse.

“Well?” Eivor asked, and he must have known, he must have been very clear on what omegas did to alphas, what _he_ did to alphas. How deeply Leofrith was affected by this.

_Trust_ , he reminded himself. Eivor had placed all of his trust in Leofrith, all of his faith, his entire chance at happiness, all laid in Leofrith’s hands with so little hesitation that had he realised what he was being given when it was given to him, he might have refused it for fear of fumbling and shattering such a precious, fragile, irreplaceable thing.

“You smell wonderful,” Leofrith admitted.

“So do you,” Eivor said softly.

Leofrith had never before considered what he might smell like to an omega. He knew they too had a heightened sense of smell, but alphas did not go into the delicious heats of omegas.

“You _look_ wonderful, too,” Eivor said. “The sage really does suit your colouring, I so hoped you’d wear it.”

“You seemed to like it best,” Leofrith shrugged. “And I am yours to command,” he added wryly, or perhaps he meant it. With the sticky scent of Eivor’s oncoming heat still clinging to his lungs, he might have meant it. He might have done anything Eivor asked him.

Eivor stepped back into the light, the flickering flames of the nearest brazier burnishing his golden hair to bronze.

“Then my first command,” he said, holding his hand out. “Is that we ought to dance.”

❧

Even with the faster pace of the jigs and reels Lord Birstan favoured at his ball, Sigurd proved to be right—Eivor had no need to doubt Leofrith’s stamina. As they came to the end of their second dance in a row—after Eivor had danced with another half-dozen alphas—Leofrith looked unruffled, and Eivor was beginning to feel hot under his collar.

He led Leofrith away from the roaring heat of the braziers and into the cool of the night, breathing in soothing lungfuls of air as blood pounded in his ears.

“Are you going to tell me I also dance like a farmer?” Leofrith asked, offering Eivor a glass of lemonade which he accepted gratefully and swallowed down greedily, relief washing over him as Leofrith simply took the glass again and refilled it for him.

Of everyone Eivor had danced with tonight, Leofrith was easily the most skilled.

“You certainly have the stamina of a bull,” he teased, closing his eyes and tilting his face up to the sky.

Leofrith snorted, but pressed the second glass of lemonade into Eivor’s hand and settled to stand beside him, close enough that even through the layers of their clothes Eivor could feel the warmth of his large, powerful body.

He was strong, under all that silk and velvet. Eivor had peeked at his reflection in the glass of one of the display cabinets in the tailor’s shop, when Leofrith had stood in only shirt and breeches having his measurements taken. He could see the curve of powerful calves that needed no padding to fill his stockings, broad shoulders across which his tailcoat was appealingly tight.

Eivor closed his eyes again as Leofrith’s scent came to him on the breeze, rich and inviting as it curled up in the very pit of his stomach.

He _was_ close to his heat.

Too close, he worried, but surely the risk was worth it? This was for his and Sigurd’s future happiness, surely that was worth any risk?

“Eivor?” Leofrith’s face suddenly appeared in Eivor’s vision, brows drawn together in concern.

“Hmm?” Eivor blinked at him. “I’m sorry, I was in the land of the elves. Did you say something?”

“Nothing important,” Leofrith said, concern still written in the lines of his face. “I was observing that Sigurd is once again dancing with Ubba.”

Eivor grinned. “Good,” he said. “That will make Ubba happy, and he has had so little happiness in his life.”

“Is that why he does it?” Leofrith asked. “Pays him so much attention, I mean? To make him happy.”

Eivor searched for the two of them and found them both laughing as they caught each other’s elbows and skipped in a circle, swapping briefly with Ceolbert and Maetild before going back to each other, both flushed and lively.

“Perhaps that is part of his purpose,” Eivor said, smiling to himself.

Sigurd, he thought, was smitten with the older alpha. And why shouldn’t he be? Ubba was handsome, steady, successful, kind, gentle, and safe. What else would an omega look for in a mate?

He had not been speaking idly when he’d said he would have married Ubba himself if that would solve their problems. He would have, and it would have been a happy marriage.

But it might not quite have had the spark Eivor saw between him and Sigurd. Sigurd’s eyes shone like a starving man gazing on a feast, and one part of that was his heat coming on—any alpha would be more attractive to him than usual now—but he’d seen Sigurd look the same way at Ubba before, though less openly than he was now.

“But I think he sees in Ubba an alpha who could see him through his heat very pleasurably,” he added, and then almost bit his own tongue, horrified at himself.

He would never have said that. Never have compromised Sigurd’s honour, his _privacy_ , the way he just had, in his right mind.

Heart falling into his stockings, Eivor realised that he was no longer, entirely, in his right mind.

Leofrith stared at him, wide-eyed, and as he stared Eivor felt a telltale twinge in his belly.

He held Leofrith’s gaze as it dawned on him that his plan had gone very, very wrong indeed.

His heat had started.

❧

Leofrith swallowed as he stared into Eivor’s wide, suddenly pleading eyes, realising that one of the ways he’d imagined Eivor’s plan going wrong had, after all, come to pass.

People had often told him he had good instincts about these things. The ability to see the ways in which a good idea could go bad, and how badly it could go, and what might be done to manage it.

This was the worst possible way it could have gone wrong. An omega starting a heat in public risked social ruin. It was not _fair_ , it was not _right_ , but Leofrith had walked on God’s earth long enough to know that what was fair and right rarely had any particular bearing on what _was_.

“I had two days,” Eivor said, voice barely above a breath.

All around them, Leofrith felt the subtle shift in the alphas present. Not only their eyes on them—which they most certainly were—but the change in scent, dark and aggressive, unmistakably sexual.

He had been a soldier. He had been near enough alphas in close enough quarters to know what they smelled like when… when…

They would not touch Eivor.

A growl vibrated in the very depths of his chest, too low for now to be heard, but enough that he could feel it.

They would _not_ touch him, they would not even see him like this. It was not for them.

Eivor was not for them.

Leofrith swallowed, pulling his thoughts back from the road they were determined to gallop down. He was an adult alpha perfectly capable of dealing with an omega—even a pretty omega who was his friend, who despite himself he _liked_ , in heat. Eivor needed him to. Maintaining his calm was all that stood between Eivor and disaster.

And Eivor had trusted him. With his reputation, with his happiness.

“Leofrith,” Eivor said, his voice trembling now, the awkward syllables of Leofrith’s name softer on his tongue. Pleading.

Leofrith did not mean to let him down.

“You’re safe,” Leofrith promised. “You’re safe with me.”

Eivor’s throat worked as he swallowed. He must have hated this, Leofrith thought. Hated being at the mercy of his own body, hated the vulnerability that came with it. Eivor was so headstrong, so independent, it must have frustrated him to have his control slip, even a little.

Leofrith sensed movement to his left side, and turned to stare down an alpha nearly a head shorter than him who dared to approach.

It spoke to just how appealing Eivor’s scent was that the other alpha didn’t back down immediately, but instead met Leofrith’s eyes for a few heartbeats—long enough that Leofrith began to expect a fight.

Eventually, the other alpha lowered his eyes, backing away without turning until he’d disappeared well into the crowd.

He didn’t realise he was growling aloud now until Eivor’s fingers brushed against his arm.

“Eivor,” Sigurd said as he appeared at Leofrith’s elbow, worry in his voice.

He would know, too. It stood to reason that he would know his own brother’s scent.

Eivor licked his lips, and Leofrith followed the path of his pink tongue more closely than he ought to have.

Eivor would never forgive him, he thought. He’d never feel safe around Leofrith again.

“Prince Eivor,” an unfamiliar voice on Leofrith’s other side said, and this one registered as a threat, his hackles rising as he turned on an older beta, thin and grey but smiling warmly.

“Lord Birstan,” Eivor said, looking between the newcomer, Sigurd, and Leofrith. “We have been very much enjoying your hospitality.”

“Good, good!” Birstan enthused. “Would you walk with me Eivor? There’s something in the house I think you’d enjoy seeing.”

Leofrith found himself growling again, but Lord Birstan—despite being a beta and less than half his size—remained steady and calm, offering Eivor his arm.

Leading him away from the other alphas. Doing the right thing, as the host.

Leofrith looked down at his polished boots and gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to growl again. He had surely lost Eivor’s friendship after this, and it was his own fault.

Eivor was not _his_ , Eivor was not _anyone’s_ , and behaving as though anything else was true was boorish at best.

It was to Leofrith’s surprise, then, that Eivor tugged on his sleeve as he allowed Lord Birstan—a good host, and evidently a good man—to lead him away, Sigurd in tow.

“Oh, yes, of course, your paramour,” Lord Birstan enthused. “I’m quite certain he’d like to see what I have to show you, as well.”

Leofrith followed silently, still turning his own behaviour over in his head, still marvelling at Eivor tugging on his sleeve, a silent plea not to be left alone, not to be taken away from him.

Had he not been busy wrestling with inconvenient, unwanted instincts, he might have had the capacity to be flattered by it, warmed even.

As it was, he barely came to his senses before the four of them were standing in front of an enormous painting of a boar being speared by a warrior of old, a scene rendered in such incredible detail that, despite the imagery, it became a thing of beauty.

Eivor blinked up at the painting—far now from the other alphas at the ball, cloistered inside the private chambers of their host, surrounded only by the scent of a beta past his prime, not enough to bother even his oversensitive nose.

“It’s incredible, my lord,” Eivor said, and Leofrith only realised then that Eivor’s fingers were still biting into the velvet of his coat sleeve.

“I thought you might think so,” Lord Birstan said gently. “Why don’t you admire it in peace for a while, hmm? I will let Ubba and Ceolbert know where you are.”

And what had happened, Leofrith thought. He hoped Ubba wouldn’t be angry with Eivor—after all, this plan _had_ been a risk, a known risk. But on the other hand, what other choice did Eivor have?

He was obliged to marry. The only choice he had in the matter was the chance to pick the most suitable available mate.

As soon as the door closed behind Lord Birstan, Sigurd was at Eivor’s side, both hands on him and worry etched on his face.

“How do you feel?” Sigurd asked, searching his brother’s face.

“Embarrassed,” Eivor said, turning his head halfway toward Leofrith, but not quite looking.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Sigurd said. “You cannot control your heats any more than any other omega can. One day it will be the responsibility of alphas not to be tempted, instead of omegas not to be tempting.”

Leofrith cleared his throat, to remind the two brothers that he was still present.

Eivor did look up at him then, eyes clearer than they had been, and Leofrith was glad to see no fear reflected there.

“Thank you,” he said. “For staying with me. It must be uncomfortable for you.”

It was. Leofrith’s control, which he had always credited, was still straining at its tethers like a horse about to be gelded. He had slipped, growling first at what his primal mind had seen as a rival, and then at Lord Birstan, who had proven to be a friend.

“I am accustomed to it,” Leofrith said, which was true in the absolute. He was accustomed.

But he’d never experienced it like _this_ before.

Sigurd looked him up and down, and Leofrith felt as though he was being sized up for weaknesses.

He had not forgotten Sigurd’s promise that one misstep would result in having his heart eaten, and as he met the elder omega’s crystalline eyes, he knew it was true, and that Sigurd would be formidable purely because of who he was defending.

A knock on the door saved him from having to come up with anything further to say, and Ceolbert poked his head in a moment later.

“Eivor?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” Eivor said, sidling closer to his brother, finally dropping his hand from Leofrith’s sleeve. “But I would like to leave.”

Ceolbert stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself again.

“Ubba is taking a cab home, so you might have use of the carriage. He asked for a five-minute head start.”

Leofrith nodded to himself, considering Ubba’s position. Five minutes would be just enough time to ensconce himself in a part of the house where he could readily avoid Eivor—and, presumably, Sigurd, who had to be nearing his heat as well.

“We will give him fifteen,” Eivor declared. “But go to the carriage and wait.”

“Shall I go with you?” Leofrith asked, hesitant to leave Eivor alone.

“Lord Birstan has shown me how to get out the back way and already directed Ubba’s driver to where he might meet us,” Ceolbert spoke up. “They will be safe with me, I swear it.”

Leofrith looked Ceolbert over and forced himself to believe this was true—because it _was_. He had a good head on his shoulders, and he had not yet reached the full maturity that would make Eivor’s heat difficult for him to bear. He cared for these omegas, and they _would_ be safe with him.

“I’m sure they will,” Leofrith said, and the words coming easier than expected. “Take them home, Ceolbert.”

“Please pass my apologies on to Maetild,” Eivor said, moving to follow Ceolbert but pausing by the door. “For missing our dance. I will owe it to her the next time we see each other.”

“She will understand,” Leofrith said, thinking back to what she’d said about Eivor, and his situation. She would understand, he thought, better than anyone.

Eivor nodded, and then he was ushered out by Sigurd and Ceolbert, leaving Leofrith alone to contemplate the death throes of the enormous boar in the painting.

He tried earnestly to study the details, but the only thoughts his mind would allow to stick were those of Eivor, and the sweetness of his scent, and the unreserved trust in his eyes.

From the very heart of his soul, a little voice whispered _mine_.

❧

“You must think me a fool,” Eivor said, holding the blankets of his bed up for Sigurd to slip under them with him. The warmth of them would likely become unbearable overnight, but Sigurd was frequently cold and would, as always, take them all for himself while they slept anyway.

“Anyone who would think you a fool would only be fooling themselves,” Sigurd said, curling up beside Eivor and reaching out to toy with the age-softened linen of his nightshirt.

“Such wisdom,” Eivor said, grinning at Sigurd as they both settled down.

They hadn’t been able to share a heat like this since before Sigurd’s marriage, and Eivor was glad to have him for this one.

“I am known for my wisdom.” Sigurd nodded seriously, but there was laughter dancing in his eyes.

He was not upset, or disappointed, as Eivor had been afraid he might be. As always, he understood.

Eivor shuffled closer, allowing himself the full comfort of Sigurd’s embrace, burying his nose in the crook of his neck to breathe in his familiar scent.

“Leofrith thinks I am a fool,” Eivor said. “He warned me against going out so close to my heat.”

“Leofrith does not think you a fool,” Sigurd soothed. “Or if he does, he does not mind it. You saw the way he defended you.”

Eivor licked his lips. He _had_ seen the way Leofrith defended him, had felt the primal rumbling growl in the pit of his stomach.

Even now, the memory made him squirm.

Sigurd chuckled tiredly. “You _liked_ the way he defended you,” he said.

Eivor bit his lip and hid his face in Sigurd’s shoulder.

“I’d forgotten how good you smell,” Sigurd murmured, lips brushing the shell of Eivor’s ear in a way that did nothing to help the tension in his belly.

He huffed, determined not to give Sigurd the satisfaction of knowing just how affected he was at the mere memory of Leofrith coming to his defence.

Even though he had warned Eivor, even though he thought the plan ill-conceived. Even though Eivor had worried that the cost of his scheme would be Leofrith’s respect.

He still wasn’t sure he hadn’t lost it—after all, Leofrith was a good man, he would defend _any_ omega in need.

But the hunger in his eyes, that was hard to ignore. Natural, brought on by Eivor’s heat, another reaction _almost_ any alpha would have had to him. But not one who held him in contempt or looked at him with disgust, though.

So perhaps not all was lost.

Sigurd hissed before Eivor could say more, and then groaned the exhausted groan of an omega who had been through more than a decade of heats and was tired of them. His heat, too, had started.

Eivor let his eyes fall closed and breathed in Sigurd’s scent, distinct from his own, bright and warm where his was sweet and fresh. Sigurd’s scent was autumnal—stewed apples and warming spices underscored with the scent of damp leaves crunching underfoot.

Eivor had always thought he smelled of winter—snow-blooming flowers and freshly-fallen snow, damp grass and the last of the stores of summer honey being licked from the comb.

“Leofrith would give anything to be in my place,” Sigurd murmured, hand moving up and down Eivor’s side in slow, soothing strokes.

Eivor snorted. “He thinks of me as a pig in a bow, remember?”

“He never meant that,” Sigurd corrected. “And you cannot pretend you are not taken with him. Why else should you have grown so close, why else would you trust him?”

Eivor swallowed. To tell Sigurd that it was all a ruse—to lay out what Eivor was doing to secure their future—would only make his heart ache.

Better to let him think that Eivor was taking the time to weigh his options. Better to say nothing at all, and allow Sigurd the comfort of believing that Eivor was happy, and would be happier still.

“I do not wish to speak of Leofrith,” Eivor said. “ _I_ would like to speak of you and Ubba.”

Sigurd’s hand stilled on Eivor’s side, worrying the fabric of his nightshirt between thumb and forefinger. “Ubba and I?”

“Yes! How he looks at you, how _you_ look at _him_.”

Now it was Sigurd’s turn to snort. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Eivor asked, pulling back to look Sigurd in the eyes. “So if he came in here and carried you away to his bedchamber, you would seek my rescue?”

Sigurd wet his lips, eyes fixed on the pearl button at Eivor’s throat. “He would not do such a thing. He is a gentleman.”

Eivor grinned. “But imagine he did,” Eivor said, reaching out and brushing his thumb along the shell of Sigurd’s ear. “Growling and keening, smelling of want, of _need_ for you. Imagine he threw you over his shoulder and then laid you down gently in his own bed, his scent rising all around you.”

Even in the low light of the lantern by the bedside, Eivor could see Sigurd’s eyes growing dark, smell his scent becoming thicker.

“Imagine,” Eivor whispered, running the pad of his thumb over Sigurd’s lower lip. “That he kissed you so gently it brought tears to your eyes, all that coiled strength held at bay for your pleasure.”

Sigurd swallowed, his sweet scent filling the room now.

“If you do not plan to see to me yourself, this is cruel,” he complained.

Eivor considered a moment, thumb hovering over Sigurd’s lips once more.

“Not tonight,” he decided. It had been a long time since they were young omegas at play with one another. Sigurd had been married since, and Eivor had ached for him, and that hurt was not healed. But neither would this heal it, if they pressed on.

Sigurd nodded, and another person may have been disappointed, but there was such understanding in his eyes that Eivor nearly regretted his decision.

“May I stay?” Sigurd asked.

“Of course. Always,” Eivor promised. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted, safe in their cozy nest here, the first time he had felt he could say such a thing.

It was not that they had been separated, but they had not been allowed to be so close as before. They were both different people now, changed by the last few years of their lives, and the war, and fleeing under cover of darkness like criminals.

Eivor did not know yet how they would be with each other from now on, and did not wish to promise Sigurd something they would not be able to have. As long as they were still not separated, that would be enough. It would have to be.

Sigurd ran the tip of his finger along one of Eivor’s braids, holding the end of it loosely in his hand for a moment before letting it go.

“Good night, Eivor,” he said, reaching over him to put the lantern out.

“Good night,” Eivor murmured into the dark.

He would keep this, no matter what it cost him.


	6. The Syrian Prince

“Well,” Sigurd said, surveying the drawing room with a critical eye. “If you accomplished nothing else last night, the flower sellers of London all ought to be sending you a thank you card.”

Indeed, the drawing room looked as though Ubba had taken up flower-selling as a business venture overnight, and even as Eivor thought it, two footmen—betas, the only ones allowed in this part of the house while Sigurd and Eivor were in heat—walked in carrying two arrangements each.

Eivor couldn’t help thinking that he wished Leofrith could see this, if only to prove that his plan had, after all, borne fruit.

Ceolbert wandered into the room, wrapped in his banyan, and stared.

“Good lord,” he said, blinking sleep-heavy eyes slowly. “Are these all for Eivor?”

“Some of them are for me,” Sigurd said, turning a paper label over with a fond little smile. “These are from Ubba,” he added, nodding to the dozen roses dyed teal.

Eivor smirked with the satisfaction of being entirely correct about Ubba’s feelings.

He wandered the room, turning over cards, glancing at notes and smiling to himself at the pretty words scrawled on them in a dozen different hands.

As Sigurd said, some of the flowers—perhaps a full third—were for him. Sometimes, a suitor who had sent something to Eivor had also remembered Sigurd, but a few were for Sigurd alone, in his own right, and he preened over them.

But he always came back to Ubba’s roses, touching the petals gently and biting his lip.

If Sigurd wished to choose Ubba—or anyone else, for that matter—Eivor wanted to make it possible for him.

He took note of a few names from the cards, planning to discover more about their owners, and finally came to two arrangements that were grander than the rest, both identical in composition but with striking contrast between the colours. One in Sigurd’s favourites, and the other in Eivor’s.

“Prince Basim Ibn Ishaq,” Eivor read aloud, running his thumb over the beautiful scrawl.

“Oh!” Ceolbert said. “We read about him in the morning paper a few days ago, didn’t we?”

“I remember,” Sigurd said, looking up at the flowers. “He was due to arrive in London today.”

“Well,” Eivor said, turning the card over. “According to this, he hopes to have the pleasure of our company during his stay.”

Sigurd raised an eyebrow. Even for a prince—even for a prince more foreign than they were—that was forward.

“He hails from Syria, if I recall,” Ceolbert said.

“Yes,” Sigurd agreed. “It is flattering,” he added. “To still be treated as princes.”

“We may not be in exile forever,” Eivor said. “He is wise to wish to make friends, and he is from a part of the world where _prince_ is a title shared by many. I am inclined to humour him, he could be usef— _ah_ ,” Eivor cut himself off with a hiss as one of the pangs of his heat hit him at full force.

“Eivor!” Sigurd cried, rushing to help him down to the settee with Ceolbert’s help.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m… fine.”

His heats had been getting steadily worse for some time now, and would continue to do so until he was mated. He had already put it off too long—another omega would have been married years earlier. But that was not to be Eivor's fate.

Sigurd tutted gently and sat beside Eivor, pulling him down until his head rested in his lap. His belly was warm, as expected and he knew Sigurd, too, must have been uncomfortable, but he took comfort in gentle fingers running over his braids. Later, he would have Sigurd take them out, and he would do the same for him.

“Can I call for something? To help?” Ceolbert asked. “I do not like to see you suffer.”

“Sit beside us,” Sigurd said. “The scent of an alpha helps, even a young one.”

Eivor shuffled over so Sigurd could do likewise, leaving room for Ceolbert beside him.

“Is it painful?” Ceolbert asked, and when Eivor rolled his head back to look up at him, he flushed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask.”

“You should,” Sigurd corrected. “All alphas should seek to understand what omegas go through. You will have a mate one day.”

“Yes, and I would… I would like to be a good husband to them.”

Eivor laughed. “You will, Ceolbert. Being willing to listen and learn goes further than you might think. Besides, this is what your father sent you to Ubba for, to become used to being around omegas in heat before you reach maturity.”

“Yes, he said as much. Does it truly help?” Ceolbert asked.

Eivor groaned as he sat up, shuffling Ceolbert and Sigurd over so he could sit on Ceolbert’s other side. “Can you smell us?” Eivor asked. “You may lean closer to me if you need to, it’s all right.”

Ceolbert looked at him uncertainly.

“It’s all right, Ceolbert,” Eivor said, keeping his voice low and soothing. The boy was sweet, and Eivor did not doubt he would make someone a good mate one day.

He smiled as Ceolbert did lean in, sniffing delicately at Eivor’s neck, where his scent was strongest while he was fully clothed.

“I smell… honey, I think. And damp grass.”

“I have often wondered if alphas smell the same as I do,” Eivor said, delighted.

“Scent me,” Sigurd spoke up, causing Eivor to straighten and stare openly at him.

“What?” Sigurd asked. “The boy has to learn, and no one else is about to do it.”

“Is… is it pleasant for you?” Ceolbert asked. “To be scented?”

“It depends on who does the scenting,” Eivor explained. “From a stranger it would be aggressive, it would be a threat.”

“But you are not a stranger,” Sigurd said. “I would enjoy the intimacy.”

“Intimacy?” Ceolbert nearly squeaked.

Eivor chuckled. “Familial intimacy, Ceolbert,” he said. “You are lovely and will grow up to be a very attractive alpha, I think, but I believe I speak for both of us when I say you feel more like a long lost cousin than a potential mate.”

“Forgive me,” Sigurd said. “Our heats make us more affectionate than we might otherwise be.”

“They are uninhibiting,” Eivor said. “Like strong drink.”

“Unmated omegas do not drink,” Ceolbert said, but he clearly did not believe it to be true. After another moment’s hesitation, he leaned in and sniffed at Sigurd, keeping a respectful distance.

“ _You_ smell like… like mulled cider,” Ceolbert declared. “Very distinctly different from Eivor.”

“Good, very good,” Sigurd said, sitting back on the settee. “Eivor is right, heats are uninhibiting,” he added. “This is why society hides omegas in heat away. We may accidentally speak our minds for once.”

Ceolbert snorted. “I don’t believe either of you have ever held your tongues.”

Sigurd laughed, letting his head loll against Ceolbert’s shoulder. To his credit, the young alpha took it in stride, shifting to allow Sigurd to get comfortable.

“We are more blunt than your English omegas, it’s true,” Sigurd said.

“I find it very charming,” Ceolbert said encouragingly. “One always knows where one stands with the two of you.”

“You stand firm in your place in our hearts,” Eivor said, taking the opportunity to curl up on the settee as well, legs dangling over the arm and back against Ceolbert’s side, his head resting on the shoulder not in use by Sigurd.

“If you don’t mind my asking, where does Leofrith stand with you?” Ceolbert asked. “He is a good man, Eivor. Do you plan to marry him?”

“Yes, Eivor,” Sigurd spoke up, delight in his voice. “Where _does_ Leofrith stand with you?”

“He is a good man,” Eivor admitted, more to himself than to Ceolbert or Sigurd. Leofrith _was_ a good man. Better, perhaps, than Eivor deserved.

But he was not interested, and Eivor’s behaviour last night was not likely to have changed his mind—indeed, he would be less interested than ever, Eivor thought.

“And handsome,” Sigurd added.

“He is very handsome, isn’t he?” Ceolbert asked.

Sigurd laughed again. “Our candour is rubbing off on you.”

“Why should I not say Leofrith is handsome?” Ceolbert asked.

Eivor chuckled. “You are bathing in the heat scents of two unmated omegas,” he said. “It will lower _your_ inhibitions, too. This is why you must learn to handle it. _That_ is why omegas are not to be in the company of mature, unmated alphas when they are in heat. We can be very dangerous.”

“I suspect you both of being very dangerous in or out of heat,” Ceolbert said.

More laughter from both Eivor and Sigurd. “You have bought into tales of our kind being savage barbarians,” Sigurd said. “Personally I have only sacrificed two children to my gods, and they were both very small,” he added, holding his hands apart to demonstrate the smallness.

Ceolbert’s eyes widened in horror.

“He’s joking,” Eivor managed through a breathless laugh. “He’s joking, Ceolbert. We only ever sacrifice virgins.”

The way Ceolbert shifted gave away something Eivor had been nearly certain of.

“Are _you_ a virgin, Ceolbert?” Sigurd asked, having apparently realised what Eivor had at the same moment, his eyes gleaming like a cat spotting prey.

“I… well, I… naturally would be, wouldn’t I? I am unmarried.”

Both Eivor and Sigurd burst into laughter.

“We do not mean to be cruel,” Eivor assured breathlessly between bouts of laughter, sliding down low on the settee in his mirth. “Do English alphas not learn with one another? Or… betas, perhaps?”

“No,” Ceolbert said.

“Oh dear gods,” Sigurd said, still laughing helplessly, sliding down to puddle on the floor, giggling. “Do you think _Leofrith_ is a virgin, Eivor?”

Heat rose to Eivor’s cheeks as he considered the question, but now that Sigurd was laughing he couldn’t stop himself from joining in.

“He is a long way from being a rake,” Ceolbert pointed out.

“Oh _no_ , perhaps he is,” Eivor said, joining Sigurd on the floor without entirely meaning to. “Imagine if I did marry him and he didn’t know what to _do_ with me.”

“Disaster,” Sigurd giggled.

“But surely there is… there is some… instinct,” Ceolbert said, his face crimson.

If he had hoped for a useful answer, he would be disappointed. Both Eivor and Sigurd were useless to him, sprawled out on the floor and giggling to themselves.

Which was how the beta footman charged with delivering a package found them, Ceolbert still red-faced on the settee and two giggling omegas at his feet.

“From Lord Mercer,” the footman said meekly, leaving what he carried on the table closest to the door and then slipping out again in a hurry.

It took Eivor a moment to register what _from Lord Mercer_ meant, but once he did, he scrambled from the floor to beat Sigurd to the table, snatching the letter away before it could be read aloud.

As Eivor scanned the small, unsteady script, he realised that his fears had been unfounded—indeed, he could no longer say what he had been afraid of.

As he read, a smile came easily to his face, relief at knowing now that Leofrith was still, at least, his friend. He had not lost his respect entirely.

Sigurd’s chin hooked over his shoulder as he read, his arms wrapping around Eivor’s waist.

“You cannot read a letter with that look on your face and not share the contents with the rest of us,” he said, even as Eivor tried to wriggle out of his grip—he was the larger of the two of them, and had always had a slight advantage in strength.

Indeed, he hesitated a moment too long, because Sigurd—in a show of speed and cunning he was not normally prone to—snatched the letter from Eivor’s hand, laughing again.

It was so good to hear Sigurd laughing that Eivor couldn’t quite bring himself to care that Sigurd now had possession of Leofrith’s letter.

“That’s private,” he objected, but he knew it would do no good.

“Is it scandalous?” Sigurd asked, eyes glittering. He would have denied it, but a love of gossip and intrigue was carved into his bones like runes.

“Dearest Eivor,” Sigurd read aloud. “ _Dearest_ Eivor,” he repeated, leering.

“It is a normal greeting,” Eivor objected, grabbing at the letter only for Sigurd to snatch it out of his way.

“Dearest,” Sigurd repeated, twirling away from Eivor as though they were on a dance floor. “Eivor,” he repeated once more, glancing at Eivor as he said it.

“I hope this letter finds you well,” Sigurd continued, once again evading Eivor’s attempt to stop him.

“I hope this letter finds you well?” Sigurd raised an eyebrow, snorting.

“What’s wrong with saying he hopes it finds Eivor well?” Ceolbert asked, still watching the two of them from the settee.

“Where’s the art to it?” Sigurd asked. “He should be aiming to woo with his words. Why does it not open with how he aches to see Eivor again, or how he has thought of him every minute since they were parted?”

“Not everyone can be a poet,” Eivor said, finally using Sigurd’s distraction to take the letter back from him.

_Dearest Eivor,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night—I realise in the light of day that I may have frightened you, and that was not my intent. If I have not damaged my character in your eyes beyond repair, I look forward to speaking again in person when you rejoin society._

_Maetild also sends her sympathies. She advises me that this particular herbal blend makes a soothing tea that she swears by for her heats, and she also hinted that chocolate would be a welcome gift. I hope this constitutes an acceptable apology._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Leofrith_

Eivor reached out to touch the line of Leofrith’s name before he had consciously decided to do so, touched by the kindness of his words. No reproach, no anger. But on the other hand, he was apologising for his protectiveness, and Eivor was unsure how to take that.

He passed the letter back to Sigurd and went to the table where the parcel had been left, untying the string with care and revealing a small but finely-wrought tea tin and a beautiful gilded box that he knew would contain chocolates of exceptional quality.

“Oh dear gods,” Sigurd said, folding the letter again. “He’s fallen in love with you.”

Eivor snorted—Leofrith had _not_ fallen in love with him, and was only continuing their play-act. It was kind of him, noble even, to hold up his end of the bargain despite Eivor’s recklessness. One day, he would make another omega very happy.

Eivor chose not to acknowledge the way that thought made his stomach twist.

“You could do much worse than Leofrith,” Ceolbert said, earnest as ever. “Indeed, I can hardly imagine a better prospect.”

“Ah, but Leofrith has not proposed, or hinted that he means to,” Eivor said, opening the chocolates and offering them first to Sigurd, who took one, and then Ceolbert, who didn’t. “So he is not a prospect at all.”

Eivor watched Sigurd lick chocolate from his fingers, the sight of which did absolutely nothing to help the intensity of his heat, and set the box down.

“Tea,” he said. “We should not waste Leofrith’s gift.”

He tucked the letter into his pocket, and forced his mind away from the image of Leofrith in rolled-up shirt sleeves, strong arms flexing easily as he scratched quill over paper, choosing his words one by one, perhaps second-guessing himself and writing draft after draft until he got it right.

He did not let the thought warm his heart, or any other place besides.

Leofrith was not a prospect at all.

❧

“They are something to behold, aren’t they?” Ubba said, moving to stand beside Leofrith as he outright stared at Eivor and Sigurd.

Fencing.

Two omegas, fencing. In public, in the middle of Lady Holt’s annual picnic. And not giving any quarter, either.

They moved as though they were of one mind, the sunlight glinting off their foils as they sang through the air, ringing out with every block and counter.

If Leofrith had thought Eivor could _dance_ , it was nothing compared to the way he fenced.

“I’m surprised to see omegas participating in… such a physical activity,” Leofrith admitted.

Ubba chuckled. “You have much to learn about our omegas,” he said.

“Yes,” Leofrith agreed, watching as Sigurd got the better of Eivor and landed a hit, Eivor laughing and stepping back, the two of them falling into starting positions again, bowing respectfully without entirely taking their eyes off one another.

They were both so pretty like this, as though all their cares had melted away. Just two days out from their heats—the minimum dictated by polite society, enough time for the uninhibiting effects of their scents to fade—the two of them looked, for the first time since Leofrith had met them, as though they had not a care in the world.

He watched the two of them at play—for they were playing, there was nothing else to call it—and felt something pull in his chest. The need to help Eivor, he thought. To ensure he found someone who would allow him to have this always.

“They care very much for each other,” Leofrith said. “Despite not being blood brothers.”

Ubba nodded. “They would not abide separation,” he agreed. “They were promised to each other before either of them were born. Fate wants them together, no matter how happenstance conspires to keep them apart. If life is a tapestry woven by the forces of fate, then Eivor and Sigurd’s threads do not merely lie together. They are twisted as though they were one.”

Leofrith watched Eivor score a hit on Sigurd, the elder omega bursting into laughter as bowed.

They really were stunning together. Both contrasting and matching. Not a _pair_ , exactly, as one might have a pair of shoes or gloves, but a set. Two things that belonged together, Leofrith thought, as a key and a lock.

“Ceolbert has brought it to my attention that there are things you may need to know about them, if your intentions toward Eivor are in earnest.”

Leofrith glanced at Ubba, barely able to take his eyes off the two sparring omegas. He could see why Eivor had chosen this activity for them—it put them on display beautifully, and reminded onlookers that they were both something appealingly exotic, something _interesting_. Younger alphas would be taken by that, and a young alpha, Leofrith thought, could be more easily influenced.

Perhaps he was ascribing too much cunning to Eivor, though. Perhaps he was merely taking advantage of the sunshine. With him, and all his quickness of mind, it was impossible to be sure how many steps ahead he was at any given time.

“They are,” Leofrith said, because that was what he was required to say to maintain the fiction that he was sincerely courting Eivor.

Ubba hummed, and then cleared his throat. “Then you should know that our omegas come with expectations.”

Leofrith nodded. Of course they would, all omegas expected things of their mates. It even made sense that Eivor would expect different things—he was a prince, and he was not English.

“That is,” Ubba hesitated, and then took another breath to continue. “Eivor will have expectations of your performance in the marriage bed.”

Leofrith already had his mouth open to answer that he was perfectly prepared to keep Eivor in the comfort he was accustomed to and to respect Eivor’s cultural differences and needs, since that was what he had expected to be told.

What Ubba had _actually_ said stopped his mind in its tracks in much the way that a sheer cliff face might stop a ship in a storm.

He looked at Ubba, certain he’d misheard and not in a position to do anything about the way his jaw was hanging open.

Ubba’s grey eyes met his steadily, and that ought to have been evidence that he was _not_ asking Leofrith to assure him of his sexual experience. Unfortunately, it was evidence, in Ubba, of the opposite.

Ubba’s brow creased as though Leofrith had failed a test.

“Oh,” he said. “It is common for our omegas to go to their marriage beds with some knowledge of what to expect. They are encouraged to play with other omegas they’re close to,” Ubba said, looking meaningfully at Eivor and Sigurd.

Eivor and Sigurd.

Blood rushed to Leofrith’s head, the world tilting briefly before he closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath.

“Alphas likewise, with other alphas or betas,” Ubba continued. “Ceolbert is of the impression that this is not done in England.”

“It is not,” Leofrith said, resisting the urge to add _as far as I am aware_.

He would know, surely, if this was common practice. Everyone would know. Ubba seemed to have no awkwardness in talking about it.

Which perhaps explained why his clear and obvious enthusiasm for Sigurd should not be dampened by the fact that he had been married before. Based on the way Ubba spoke, this might even have been desirable.

Leofrith could even begin to see the sense in it—it was known, quietly, that most alphas would have some experience before marriage. Surely it would be better if _both_ sides of a marriage were acquainted with the basic mechanics of their bodies, if they understood how pleasure might be given and taken?

Perhaps Eivor’s people had the right idea.

He looked back at the two omegas just in time to watch Eivor sweep Sigurd’s feet out from under him, leaving him sprawled out on the rug beneath them, at Eivor’s mercy.

Leofrith found himself needing to swallow as Eivor set the tip of his foil under Sigurd’s chin, tilting it up so he could smirk at him. Sigurd’s throat worked as he too swallowed, the elegant line of it on full display, capturing Ubba’s attention as well.

And Eivor’s. He had noticed it before, he thought, but he’d been so blind to the possibility that he hadn’t realised what he was seeing.

Now that he _did_ know what he was looking for, though, he could see the outline of what really lay between Eivor and Sigurd, and understood more of the way in which Eivor cared for Sigurd’s happiness.

Ubba meant it, when he said they would not be separated.

“I could help,” Ubba said as Eivor offered Sigurd his arm, hauling him up and holding onto him a moment too long, stepping an inch too close. Now that Leofrith had seen it, he saw it in everything.

“Pardon?” he said belatedly.

“With your lack of experience,” Ubba said. “I could help, if you are concerned.”

Oh.

As if it wasn’t enough that Ubba had today forced Leofrith to consider the question of Eivor’s sexual experience, now he was propositioning him. He had said that it was usually alphas with other alphas, hadn’t he?

“I, umm… you make a very kind offer, and uh…” Leofrith began, trying to find the right words for a gentle refusal. Awkward as the position he was in was, he did not wish to insult Ubba. Not least of all because Ubba, as far as he was concerned, was doing nothing wrong.

“It is not that you aren’t an attractive man,” Leofrith said as Ubba raised an eyebrow. “It is simply—”

Ubba’s eyes widened in what Leofrith realised belatedly was horror. “I didn’t mean… I meant that you have no friends in society and may not know where to go to find safe and discreet providers,” he said. “Not, as you say, that I do not think you attractive.”

Leofrith, now entirely out of his depth, jumped when a hand touched his arm, but sighed with relief when he saw that it was Eivor, still prettily flushed from his exertions.

“What are you two gossiping about?” he asked as Sigurd trailed behind him, moving to stand by Ubba as he always did.

Leofrith wondered how much longer it could possibly take for the two of them to realise—or confess, or perhaps accept—how they felt about each other. Half of London must surely have seen what was between them by now, but both Ubba and Sigurd themselves seemed oblivious to the furtive looks, the lingering incidental touches, the way they spoke of one another.

“Nothing,” Leofrith said, glancing at Ubba.

“We were just discussing what a handsome pair you and Sigurd make,” Ubba covered for him, offering Leofrith a wink he wasn’t entirely sure how to take.

“Walk with me,” Eivor said, taking Leofrith’s yet-to-be-offered arm. “I will ache if I sit now.”

Leofrith allowed himself to be pulled away in a daze, his conversation with Ubba still swirling in his head.

He wanted to ask Eivor about it, but in doing so he would have to explain the _rest_ of the conversation, and he was not certain he could face that. Even, he now realised, in light of Eivor’s easy comfort with such matters.

Looking back over their time together, Leofrith could now see that a number of comments Eivor had made which he had assumed to be _accidentally_ sexual were, in fact, likely deliberate. He would have to repaint his whole mental picture of Eivor from the beginning, now that he had this new information.

“You are recovered from your heat, then?” Leofrith asked, which had seemed like a change of subject until the words left him and he remembered what a heat _was_.

Perhaps it hadn’t been two days, after all. It _did_ seem a short heat, and there was still a lingering ripeness to Eivor’s scent, like summer fruit at its peak. Leofrith did not need to scent him again to detect it, but he suddenly wished this was not true.

“Entirely recovered,” Eivor said. “Your gift was much-appreciated. I… I was surprised to hear from you. And, ah. Relieved.”

Leofrith looked at Eivor to find his face turned away from him, an unusual shyness falling over him.

“Relieved?” Leofrith asked.

“That you were willing to speak to me at all, after… after the position I put you in.”

“You were doing as you must do,” Leofrith said, an uncomfortable pang in his chest at the thought. He understood more now, more of why Eivor was doing this, and he could not help but feel for him, now that he was over the shock.

Eivor smiled—a real smile, one that spoke of gratitude—and nodded. “I hope you did not suffer too greatly for the ordeal.”

No, not too greatly. Only a few days of not being able to drag his mind away from the sweetness of Eivor’s scent, the softness of his skin, the brightness of his eyes. Less than a week of being tortured by his own memory of the way Eivor was in heat, and the way he had felt the urge to defend him.

Just a handful of hours of lying awake in bed and forcing himself not to think of how sweet it might have been to kiss him, stroke him, soothe him. To ease his heat the traditional way, with hands and mouth and… other parts he would not risk turning his mind too now, lest they stir.

Almost no suffering at all.

All brought on by Eivor’s scent, Leofrith told himself. Nothing more to it than simple biology. Any other alpha would have been equally affected—quite a few probably _had_ been, as was the plan.

“Were you successful?” he asked, curious to know who might have been snared in Eivor’s broadly-cast net.

“Oh, _very_ ,” Eivor enthused. “You should have seen the drawing room, it was like a flower market.”

Leofrith ignored the lump in his throat and focused on a flowering tree in the distance instead.

“Sigurd drew his own admirers, as well, as he should. We even each had flowers from a prince,” he said, glowing with happiness.

“You will hardly need me much longer,” Leofrith said, swallowing down the unaccountably bitter taste of the words.

“Oh, I have no proposals yet,” Eivor said, squeezing Leofrith’s arm. “But one or two prospects I might follow up, each of them eager enough, I think, to be convinced into a very short engagement.”

“Oh?” Leofrith asked. “Anyone I know?”

“Lord Geadric and Lord Tewdwr,” Eivor said. “I believe you might know—”

“Geadric, yes. He is—”

“Like you, a man rewarded for his military service,” Eivor beamed as though this pleased him. “Though not nearly as handsomely as you were.”

“Yes, made a baron,” Leofrith said. “He deserved more. He is a brilliant man, brave as they come and with a good mind for strategy. But he was injured out of the fighting.”

“You approve, then?” Eivor asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters, you know the man, and you are my trusted friend and ally. If you told me he was a poor prospect, I would steer clear.”

“He is a good man,” Leofrith said. “But he is… older. And he may never recover his full strength,” he added, thinking, unfortunately, about what Ubba had said about Eivor’s expectations.

“His age is what makes him perfect,” Eivor said. “He is eager to settle down and gain himself an heir. He would welcome Sigurd, as well, since he has no family of his own. He has already told me as much.”

“But he is only a baron,” Leofrith pointed out. “Would that be enough?”

“You are right, _that_ is the risk. He may not be able to offer me the protection I require.”

“Hmm,” Leofrith agreed. “Tewdwr is a marquess. The third son of the previous marquess, destined for the church before both his brothers succumbed to illness this past winter.”

“You have been studying,” Eivor said, beaming at him.

Leofrith cleared his throat, hoping the rush of blood to his face would not be too obvious. “I must know these things. And I have Maetild to tell me them. And I saw you dancing with Tewdwr at Lord Birstan’s ball.”

“He stood on both of my feet,” Eivor said. “But he is young, and lost.”

“And therefore easily controlled,” Leofrith said, wondering that he did not feel more sympathy for the lad. But then, why should he? Alphas of old would have fought and died over an omega like Eivor, and Leofrith knew that Eivor would not have him do anything unreasonable. All he wanted was a safe, comfortable life for himself and Sigurd.

“ _Leofrith,”_ Eivor said, feigning shock, hand fluttering to his chest. “You would seek to manipulate poor Lord Tewdwr?”

“I have no need to,” Leofrith said. “But you do.”

Eivor laughed delightedly. “This is why you and I are such natural friends,” he said, walking just an inch or so closer to Leofrith.

“But accepting a marquess would look odd when you are being courted by a duke, surely?” Leofrith asked.

“Oh yes, it would be necessary for you to break my heart. Very publicly. In front of whichever I chose, so they might console me.”

“Sigurd has threatened to eat my heart if I break yours,” Leofrith said, remembering Ubba’s warning that he was entirely serious.

“I would protect you,” Eivor promised solemnly. “And I hope we would— _ah.”_

Leofrith stopped dead as Eivor did, turning to see him standing on one leg, his left foot suddenly bare of the slipper he’d been wearing moments ago.

Eivor turned on his right foot, and though Leofrith could no longer see his face, he knew he was glaring at the misbehaved shoe.

Leofrith looked between the wobbling Eivor and a low stone wall nearby, glanced around to be sure they weren’t been too closely watched, and then closed the distance between them, lifting Eivor clear off the ground and grinning to himself as he gasped and squeaked, both sounds he had not expected from the usually cool and collected omega.

“That was undignified,” Eivor complained as Leofrith set him down on the wall, tugging at the bottom of his tea-dyed waistcoat.

“So was losing your shoe,” Leofrith pointed out. “I did not wish you to hurt your feet on the gravel,” he added, more softly.

Eivor snorted, but wiggled his unshod toes in his stocking, and then offered Leofrith a small, wry smile.

“You imagine me as the princess in that story,” Eivor said. “The one who could feel a pea through a dozen mattresses because she was so sensitive.”

“You are a prince,” Leofrith said, moving to collect Eivor’s lost shoe. “Speaking of which,” he added, kneeling by Eivor’s feet to fit it back in place. “What of _your_ prince? The one who sent the flowers? Is he not a better prospect than either Geadric or Tewdwr?”

“Prince Ibn Ishaq,” Eivor said, rolling the name around in his mouth much like he did Leofrith’s. “I doubt he plans to court me. I think he would like to make a useful friend while he has the chance. Though if he _did,_ he would undoubtedly be my best prospect yet.”

Eivor was teasing, and Leofrith knew it, but this did not account for the strange twinge in the pit of his belly at the thought of Eivor marrying a foreign prince. Not that Eivor was not himself a foreign prince, but…

He would leave England. They would never see each other again.

Leofrith shoved the pang aside and focused on fitting Eivor’s shoe back onto his slender foot, tugging his plain white stocking back into place.

A cry escaped him as he moved to stand, and he was brought even more firmly to his knees by the sudden freezing of his shoulder, a bolt of pain surging through him.

“Leofrith?” Eivor asked, eyes wide and alarmed as Leofrith winced his way through raising his head far enough to meet his gaze, muscles protesting even that small effort.

“My shoulder,” he gasped out.

He had not discussed his injury with Eivor—it had never come up—but now he wished he had, because the reflected pain on Eivor’s gentle face only made it worse.

Another growl of frustration as he tried once more to stand, only to be stopped by the pain, in too much agony to move.

Leofrith swallowed against the sting of tears in his eyes and forced himself to breathe through it.

“Is there something I can do to help?” Eivor asked.

“Shoot me in the head,” Leofrith gritted out, and regretted it before the last syllable had passed his lips. Pained though he may have been, he should not have said such a thing to Eivor, who was still a prince, and not a soldier. No matter how skilled he was with a sword.

“I’m afraid I would miss your company if I did,” Eivor said, still calm and even.

Leofrith laughed despite himself, the movement jarring his shoulder again.

He hated this. The weakness, the vulnerability. He hated that Eivor was seeing it. Eivor, who trusted him to be a strong, capable alpha, who had use for his strength. Who… who…

The crunch of gravel in front of him dragged Leofrith’s attention back to the omega in question, who was now standing before him, though Leofrith could see no more of him than his stockinged ankles and perfectly-formed calves.

“If you stay down there any longer, people will expect us to announce our engagement,” Eivor said, putting a hand under Leofrith’s good shoulder.

He should not have been touching him like this, nor leaning so close.

So close that the last hints of his heat-scent tickled Leofrith’s nose, setting off a pang in his belly.

“And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Eivor asked, putting his surprising strength, for such a small omega, to use in helping Leofrith up, hauling him by his good arm until he was upright, shoulder throbbing, head spinning, face hot with shame.

He met Eivor’s clear blue eyes, and saw the soft concern in them, and hated himself for his weakness.

“No,” he said, but the word turned to ash in his mouth instead of feeling like he was continuing a joke.

Eivor, obviously, would not want that. He would not want an alpha who had insulted him, who had made error after error in his presence, who was weak and hurt and would perhaps, as he had said of Geadric, never fully recover. Never be a _real_ alpha again.

No omega would ever want him—ever love him—and he did not wish to humiliate himself hoping they might.

Especially this one, this beautiful prince who had, on the whole, showed himself to be kinder than Leofrith deserved.

Eivor was still standing too close, one hand on Leofrith’s arm, when Sigurd crested the rise, calling to him.

Trailed, Leofrith realised, by an extensive retinue not his own.

Eivor stepped away from him at the speed of guilt, his hand falling and his face turned away, and then toward the crowd approaching.

They were all dressed strangely. Not in the close-fitting suits of fashionable Englishmen—or Englishmen who had been guided into their sense of dress by small Norwegian princes who wanted them to look their best—but in flowing robes of finest silk, some in colours that even Sigurd might have shied away from.

Ubba trailed behind all of them, stormclouds gathering on his face—which he concealed admirably the moment he realised Leofrith was looking at him.

“Eivor!” Sigurd enthused, alight with happiness, waving Eivor over. “Come, I have someone to introduce you to.”

Leofrith watched as one of Sigurd’s entourage stepped forward.

He was not a large man—no larger than Sigurd himself, though he carried himself as though there was hidden strength under the billows of his dress, which concealed much of him. Dark-skinned, like those men from the Middle East and the far side of the Mediterranean were, and with a trimmed beard of raven black with just one or two silver strands that stood out against the starkness of it.

Eivor stepped forward to greet him, and allowed the newcomer to take his hand and brush his lips on the back of the knuckles.

“Prince Basim Ibn Ishaq,” the newcomer pronounced in a low purr that even Leofrith could not help enjoying. “At your service.”


	7. The Proposition

“He is very handsome,” Leofrith said between dainty spoonfuls of ice cream, pink tongue catching Eivor’s attention as he licked the upside-down spoon clean with perhaps unnecessary thoroughness.

“Basim?” Eivor asked, aiming at disinterested, as though he might have been speaking of someone else.

“No, Ubba,” Leofrith teased, and then his eyes widened. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Eivor chuckled. “Did Ubba proposition you?” he asked.

He had not expected Leofrith’s face to redden in response.

“ _Did_ he? Because if he did you must tell me. And then you must take him up on it so you can tell me what it’s like,” Eivor enthused.

“You… I… it… you cannot…”

“Speak this way?” Eivor asked, arching a brow. “Why should I not speak this way with a trusted friend?”

Leofrith cleared his throat. “I suppose if I said it was not proper you would laugh at me.”

“Yes,” Eivor agreed. “So I shall pretend you never intended to say it, because you don’t mean it. You mean it embarrasses you,” he said. “So I will cease.”

Leofrith blinked at him, spoon halfway between his ice cream and his mouth.

“Truly?” Leofrith asked.

“Truly,” Eivor promised. “I enjoy your friendship and do not wish to risk its loss.”

“You enjoy my friendship more than you desire to know what bedding Ubba would be like?” Leofrith asked, the words coming out tentatively, but with courage to them.

“I have just promised I will not speak of this,” Eivor said, licking ice cream off his own spoon and rescuing a drop with his finger, sucking it clean before catching Leofrith’s stare and realising that he ought not do so in public.

Leofrith cleared his throat. “Perhaps I wish to speak of it,” he said, aiming at aloof and coming down on the side of nervous.

Eivor rolled his eyes, but only for show. “And they call omegas fickle,” he teased.

In his heart, he appreciated that Leofrith was trying to find their level. Trying to discover the edges of their relationship, what they could and could not speak of to one another.

Increasingly, Eivor wanted to be able to speak of anything to Leofrith, and to have to hold nothing back. He had no other friends in England—only Sigurd, and there were things he could not discuss with Sigurd, because they would only bring him pain.

“Are alphas and omegas not equals?” Leofrith asked. “Surely we must be entitled to be equally fickle.”

Eivor grinned over his next spoonful of ice cream. Leofrith, when he was in good humour, was charming to talk to.

“True, perhaps you ought to be allowed,” he said. “I should not like to treat you as though I think you typical of an alpha, since you have demonstrated that you are not.”

Leofrith looked at him for a long moment before turning his eyes back to his melting ice cream. The day was hot enough that Eivor was grateful to be in the cool shade, and thrilled to have an iced treat to enjoy, and perhaps he should not have expected more from Leofrith.

But he _wanted_ more.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable,” Eivor said after a moment’s silence. “I have no other friends to speak to openly and freely, but that does not mean that I should assume such intimacy of you.”

“I would like to consider myself your friend,” Leofrith said. “But Maetild has warned me of forgetting that you are still an omega, and much of the responsibility for your reputation lies on my shoulders.”

Eivor laughed. “Oh no, that is too heavy a burden even for _your_ shoulders,” he said. “My reputation is too heavy a burden for any alpha to bear, you have seen me on my _best_ behaviour.”

“In that case, I am curious about your worst,” Leofrith said.

“Some of my tales may be too scandalous for your delicate constitution,” Eivor warned, barely able to keep his excitement down at the thought that he may, after all, be able to call Leofrith a true friend. The kind of friend he no longer had.

“I was a career soldier, Eivor,” Leofrith said. “I am not delicate.”

“And yet you blush like a maiden at the thought of bedding Ubba,” Eivor said, grinning at him.

“He did not proposition me,” Leofrith said. “I only thought for a moment that he was.”

Eivor laughed, imagining the exchange. He had caught the end of it, but the beginning, he thought, would have been amusing as well.

“He did say he finds me attractive,” Leofrith added, thoughtful, glancing over at where Ubba was, quite naturally, offering Sigurd a spoonful of his own ice cream as though they were a comfortable married couple and not merely a few weeks into their acquaintance.

Eivor braced himself for another evening of hearing a listing of Ubba’s virtues—all of which he saw himself, and did not need to have explained at length.

But it made Sigurd happy to fantasise over Ubba—whether he would ever feel safe in sharing those fantasies with the alpha in question or not—and Eivor would not deny him. Even though he himself had no such alpha to fantasise over.

“You are attractive,” Eivor pointed out, just to see Leofrith blush again. “Why should Ubba not say so? Ceolbert also thinks you are handsome.”

“Now you’re teasing me,” Leofrith said, as though Eivor’s favourite activity wasn’t teasing him.

“No, that is true, he told Sigurd and I that he thinks you very handsome,” Eivor said. “While we were in heat.”

Leofrith snorted. “Nothing an alpha says around an omega in heat can be trusted, Eivor. You ought to know that.”

“I always trusted Vili during my heats,” Eivor said.

Of course, he had always trusted Vili because Vili was different, but then so was Leofrith. Not in the same way, Eivor thought, but still… different. Trustworthy, in a way most alphas were not.

“Vili?” Leofrith asked.

“He… we were betrothed,” Eivor said. “Intended to be married in his thirtieth year, which would have been this summer. But then…”

“The fighting broke out,” Leofrith said.

“Yes. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he’s still alive. It was all so sudden, I…”

Eivor didn’t realise how tightly his fist was clenched on the table until a large, gentle hand covered it, calloused thumb catching on the soft skin of his knuckles.

“His lands were the first attacked,” Eivor said. “And then we could do nothing but flee. It was too late.”

Leofrith continued to stroke his knuckles slowly, in silence, the comforting scent of an alpha feeling protective reaching Eivor’s nose in short order and beginning to calm him.

He would not cry in public. He had cried enough over this.

“You loved him,” Leofrith said.

“More than anyone, save for Sigurd,” Eivor said. “He was the best friend I ever had. I could hardly wait to be married to him. And now…”

 _And now I’m reduced to trying to seduce alphas I don’t even like and it’s barely working_ , Eivor didn’t say.

Leofrith cleared his throat, indicating that he knew the rest of it.

“I shouldn’t burden you with this. Not this _and_ my reputation, surely,” Eivor said, wanting to regain the lightness of mood he’d been enjoying only moments ago.

“It is not a burden,” Leofrith said, voice low and soothing. “It is an honour.”

Eivor looked up, and saw in his eyes that he believed what he said, that he was honoured Eivor would tell him such a thing.

“And it is an honour that you trust me not to repeat things that would see you ruined,” Leofrith added. “And I would like you to feel that you can continue to do so. I only mean to protect you. Maetild _is_ right about that, I hold more power than you do, unfair as it is. I wish to use it for your benefit,” he said. “I wish to be your friend.”

“You are my friend,” Eivor said, turning his hand under Leofrith’s to grip his fingers, squeezing tight. “You are the truest friend I have made in England, and I will not forget it.”

“But you will still ask me to break your heart when you have chosen your suitor, even at the risk of my life?” Leofrith asked, a glint of humour in his eyes.

“Of course,” Eivor said. “What are friends for?”

❧

“Am I to content myself with sharing your attentions all evening, my prince?” Leofrith asked, looking Tewdwr up and down.

“I was just—”

“Going,” Leofrith finished for him, keeping his tone just short of a growl.

Tewdwr paled and scurried away at speed, folding himself into the crowd only to look back for a moment and see Leofrith watching him, which turned him whiter still as he pushed his way past an older couple and disappeared.

When Leofrith turned to Eivor, he was grinning broadly.

“That was all right, then?” Leofrith asked.

He was not fond of using his size—or rank, now, he supposed—to intimidate otherwise innocent people, but Eivor had asked it of him, and he had not wished to let Eivor down.

“Perfect,” Eivor said. “The _my prince_ was a wonderfully possessive touch. I almost believed myself that you would not abide losing my attention.”

“I may not,” Leofrith said. “I do not have Maetild to keep me company tonight.”

Roderick—her husband—had returned from his unavoidable business in the country, and they were spending the evening together. Leofrith was happy to stay out of the house for as long as he could manage. Not only did he wish to give them space, he did _not_ wish to overhear anything… well, _anything_ at all, and the London residence was much smaller than the manor house at Templebrough.

Thankfully, they would be retiring there soon enough, as it neared time for Maetild to enter her confinement, and she had determined she would be more comfortable in the country than in the city.

“You could always dance with Ubba,” Eivor teased. “Sigurd tells me he _is_ very accomplished.”

“I think I will attempt to retain what remains of my dignity when it comes to Ubba,” Leofrith said. “How was your dance with Tewdwr?”

“He stood on both of my feet again,” Eivor complained. “I am glad I chose sturdier shoes than last time.”

Leofrith looked down to see the same pair Eivor had worn at the picnic several days before.

“Have you decided, then?” Leofrith asked.

“Eager to be rid of me?” Eivor asked, and Leofrith supposed he meant it to sound lightly teasing, but there was, he could now see, an edge of uncertainty to it.

“I shall never be eager to be rid of you,” Leofrith said. “But I will expect you to name your first-born in my honour.”

“Leofrith,” Eivor said, drawing the word out even longer than usual. “It is a good name, although I think I should always struggle to pronounce it.”

Ah. So he knew, then.

“I find the way you pronounce it very charming,” Leofrith admitted, though perhaps _charming_ did not quite cover the way Eivor saying his name tugged at the pit of his belly.

“I aim to be charming in all things.” Eivor beamed, then turned to watch the dance floor.

As he turned, his hand brushed against Leofrith’s, and Leofrith was suddenly very aware of him.

“I have not decided on Tewdwr yet. Geadric is the better dancer,” he said. “But then dancing is not the foundation of a marriage, and no one is yet to outdo you. I have wondered how you came to be so good at it.”

“Maetild always dreamed of this,” Leofrith said. “Of balls and dancing and being a real lady. It was very important to her that she knew how to dance, when she was little, for the day when her prince came and swept her off her feet. So it was very important to me to know how to dance, so she could practice.”

Heat rose to Leofrith’s cheeks as he felt Eivor looking at him, and he expected him to burst into laughter the moment he met his eyes.

Instead, he found a soft look on his face, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and rounded and sparkling as Eivor looked over Leofrith’s face as though he was seeing something wonderful for the first time.

“Sometimes,” Eivor said. “It is difficult to believe you are an alpha at all.”

From another person, Leofrith might have taken it as an insult. But Eivor did not think much of alphas, in general, and he knew it to be a compliment coming from him.

“Speaking of unusual alphas,” Leofrith said, nodding across the room. “Prince Ibn Ishaq is being very attentive to Sigurd.”

“Sigurd has travelled to Syria on diplomatic trips,” Eivor explained.

“They are already acquainted, then?” Leofrith asked.

He had been afraid to say much at all when he’d been introduced to the Syrian, let alone ask questions. Eivor had taken it in stride, but then of course, he would have—Eivor was a prince himself, and it had been a stark reminder that they were not of the same world.

He had been easy speaking to royalty and unfazed by the strangeness of the prince’s retinue, even confident in greeting his omega mate, who Leofrith had been afraid to so much as look at.

“No, they’ve never met before. But I imagine they have much to talk about. Sigurd even speaks some of Basim’s language, he made a point to pick it up. I could never grasp it, but it is very beautiful to look at.”

Leofrith looked again at Sigurd, suddenly seeing him in a new light. He had not had cause to wonder about either Eivor or Sigurd’s accomplishments, but they _must_ have been accomplished. They were princes, and he had seen them fence. It would not be the only unusual skill they had.

It had even, until now, escaped his notice that Eivor’s English was perfect, aside from the occasional stray pronunciation. He spoke more clearly and confidently than many Englishmen, but it was not his native language, and he had never even visited before.

He suddenly desperately wished to hear Eivor speak in his own tongue.

Leofrith himself had only a handful of phrases in Spanish and French, and those only because he had no choice but to learn them.

Silence fell between them while Leofrith contemplated Eivor’s accomplishments and Eivor watched the dancing with rapt attention, eyes fixed on a pretty, older omega, greying at the temples, being artfully twirled around the floor by an entirely grey alpha with a taste for gold embroidery to rival Ubba’s, who looked at him with the devotion of a long, happy marriage.

It was exactly the partnership Eivor deserved, but it became increasingly obvious to Leofrith that he was unlikely to be afforded the luxury of being in love like the pair he was watching were.

“Would you like to dance?” Leofrith asked.

He had not been so bold as to ask first before, certainly not without some reason, some view to furthering Eivor’s goals. Not for the simple pleasure of it, of spending time with someone whose company he enjoyed.

The look Eivor favoured him with, though, told him it was the right thing to say.

He was, really, very beautiful. Leofrith found himself struck anew by it at regular intervals, just long enough for it to stop seeming surprising before the light caught his eyes or something someone said caused him to smile or laugh, and then it was so obvious once again that Leofrith could think of nothing else for minutes at a time.

No alpha could deserve him. At least, no alpha Leofrith had ever met.

“I would be delighted,” Eivor said.

❧

“I am in love with your brother,” Basim said as Eivor walked with him, stopping to admire one of the rare roses in Lord Tedmund’s famous gardens. He had opened them to the public today, and Basim had written to say he was personally hoping to see Eivor and Sigurd there.

Eivor turned to look at the prince, expecting to find a teasing glint in his eye, but seeing only sincerity on his handsome features.

His stomach did something complicated that he could not say was either good or ill.

“Sigurd?” Eivor said, as though he might have another brother, unknown to him, or as though Basim may have made some mistake about his relations.

“Is that so difficult to believe?” Basim asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Eivor said, after a moment too long. “No, it… people often fall for Sigurd, he is…”

“Beautiful. Charming. Sweet,” Basim said. “Striking.”

“You are mated,” Eivor said, which was perhaps something he might have said earlier, and perhaps something he might have mustered more shock over.

He knew enough of alphas not to naturally trust them. Ubba, Leofrith, and even young Ceolbert had proved to be pleasantly surprising exceptions, not the rule.

“Yes,” Basim agreed. “Forgive me, I should have told you before I said anything. In my culture it is common for an alpha to take more than one mate.”

More than one mate?

“How many?” Eivor asked, which was, again, not the first question he perhaps should have.

He had known Basim was paying much attention to Sigurd—but he had thought it to be because Sigurd had already visited his homeland on diplomatic trips, and they must have had much to discuss.

Basim chuckled. “As many as one desires and can afford to keep.”

Eivor let that information settle in his mind, wondering just how many a minor prince could afford. Or would want, for that matter. Most alphas barely wanted to spend time with one mate except during their heats, and if he kept several they would more than likely all go into heat at once.

But then perhaps Basim was different. He certainly doted on Hytham, but he had managed to be attentive to Sigurd—and even Eivor—at the same time.

Perhaps he could love Sigurd as well.

“Sigurd is in love with Ubba,” Eivor blurted out, panicked at the thought of Basim taking Sigurd away to Syria, so far away that Eivor wasn’t certain of how to travel there himself.

Basim inclined his head. “It has not escaped my notice,” he agreed.

“You propose to win him over?” Eivor asked.

Basim’s beautiful mouth stretched into a smile. “I propose something else entirely. I am aware of your… position,” he said delicately.

Eivor had been dreading that this might be true. He seemed to know everything else about the two of them.

“But I do not fault you for it,” he added. “I know what it is to fall out of favour with the ruling party, I understand the heartbreak and the uncertainty. I only wish to offer a solution that would ease it.”

“Oh?” Eivor asked, wondering where this was going.

“I propose,” Basim said. “To take both of you. Away, to my home, where you would be safe, where you would be protected. As my mates.”

Eivor stopped dead, feeling as though the world had shifted under his feet.

Both of them. As Basim’s mates.

“Both of us?” he asked.

“I know you will not be separated and I would not wish to do so. Sigurd is most beautiful in your presence, and I would not make him unhappy for anything,” Basim said.

“But you still propose to…”

“Bond to you, yes,” Basim said. “It is not that I do not find you attractive, please be assured that I think you uncommonly beautiful. I think…” Basim paused, holding his hand out to lead Eivor forward, and they fell into step together again. “I think you and I are of similar natures. Practical. Cunning. I would consider you an asset.”

“And it will not have escaped your notice that Sigurd and I may one day be back in favour with the ruling party, since no war is ever truly decided,” Eivor said. “You would have the blood prince, as his second alpha, and the legally-titled prince, as his first. Quite the _assets_.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Basim admitted. “I would have made this offer to you regardless. It is what I came to London to do.”

Eivor smiled at that. “I’m sure we’re both equally flattered by your attention.”

Basim laughed, and Eivor couldn’t help joining him.

He was right, Eivor suspected. They were of similar natures.

“You say you know what it is to fall out with the ruling party,” Eivor said, examining another rose along the walk, glancing about to check that they had not wandered so far from others in attendance that they would be thought to be alone, but also that they were not so close to anyone else as to be overhead.

“I do,” Basim said. “I am happy to tell you the full story, but it is long and unexciting.”

“Tell me instead how you can be sure you will not fall afoul of them again,” Eivor said, turning his gaze to Basim’s, searching his eyes for any hint of deception.

“I can be sure I will not fall afoul of him,” Basim said. “Because he is dead.”

A chill washed over Eivor at the way Basim said it, the tone that meant _because I saw to his death_ as clearly as if he’d phrased it that way.

“I see,” he said, momentarily knocked off-balance.

“I believe you do,” Basim said, crossing the path to run his fingers over one of the roses, trailing down the stem and toying with the thorns.

“I believe you also see now that I can and will protect both of you. Please consider that the most solemn of promises.”

“You will not let another take what is yours,” Eivor said.

“You imagine I seek to own you?” Basim asked, raising an eyebrow. “I am not one of these…” he gestured elegantly at some of the other couples walking in the garden. “English alphas who believe they can own an omega the way they might own a desk or a horse for the price of a mating bite,” Basim said, a hint of real venom coming through in his otherwise melodic voice.

“No?” Eivor asked.

“No,” Basim said, charm replaced by a burning seriousness that piqued Eivor’s interest, more than perhaps anything else he’d discussed with Basim today.

There was depth to this man. Darkness, too, Eivor thought.

A creeping tendril of envy that Sigurd should have captured his attention so thoroughly curled its way around the pit of Eivor’s stomach, and he surprised himself by turning forcefully to thoughts of Leofrith, of his kind eyes and comforting scent.

Leofrith, who was not _really_ courting him and would not really soothe his wounded ego even if Eivor went running to him immediately.

After all this, Eivor still had no real suitor of his own—Basim’s offer was the closest he’d had. There was Geadric, and the awkward-footed Tewdwr, who were both circling him for practical if not sentimental reasons, but he didn’t…

He didn’t _want_ them.

Sigurd could have wanted Basim. _Eivor_ could have wanted Basim.

It was a good offer.

“Then what _do_ you seek from us?” Eivor asked, moving to sit on a low stone bench, leaving ample room for Basim to join him.

“Your companionship. Why is that so hard for you to believe? You must have other suitors?” Basim asked, settling beside Eivor in a whirl of silks.

Eivor hesitated. If he revealed his hand, Basim would have the advantage.

But if he was to negotiate in good faith, then he should not lie to a man who he had to consider a serious marriage prospect.

“Sigurd tells me you are very taken with Lord Mercer,” Basim pressed. “And I would not wish to cause difficulties between you.”

“I—”

 _Do not know how I feel about Lord Mercer,_ Eivor didn’t say. _But I know he has no desire to marry and I doubt I have swayed his mind and I am not certain why I should wish to, except that he is perfect in every detail,_ he didn’t add.

“We are merely flirting,” Eivor decided on instead. “He has no friends in society, and neither do I. So we are enjoying one another’s company.”

All of that was true, and Eivor was satisfied that he had not lied to Basim.

“You say you have no friends, but your name is on the lips of every person I have met,” Basim said. “You charm everyone you meet. Why should a man like me not want that in a mate?”

“Sigurd speaks some of your language, but I do not,” Eivor said.

“You are clever and would pick it up quickly if you wished to. It would make your life easier to learn, but you would always have Hytham and I to rely on. But I believe I would enjoy teaching you,” Basim said, a soft smile spreading over his face.

“You would teach me yourself?” Eivor asked, eyebrow raised. “Not hire a tutor?”

“You could have a tutor if you wished,” Basim said, his hand moving so that the back of it brushed against Eivor’s, so briefly it might have been an accident but for the look in his eyes. “But we could share it as a pleasure, you and I. You strike me as one who knows the pleasure of knowledge.”

Eivor swallowed. When Basim spoke of _pleasure_ in that low velvet tone, heat curled in the pit of his stomach.

He had already abandoned the idea that whatever marriage he found himself in would be a place to find pleasure of any kind except that which came with the satisfaction of ensuring that he and Sigurd would not be separated again.

“But it’s Sigurd you want,” Eivor said.

“It is Sigurd I have already fallen in love with,” Basim said, slipping his fingers between Eivor’s where they lay against the stone bench. “But I cannot conceive of an alpha alive who would not want you, given half a chance.”

Eivor’s breath hitched as Basim flipped his hand over and trailed the tips of his fingers along the inside of his wrist, sending sparks of pleasure skittering over Eivor’s skin.

“ _I_ want you,” Basim said, barely louder than a breath, fingers dipping down now to the palm of his hand, tickling the sensitive middle of it and leaving Eivor biting his lip.

This was why so many omegas wore gloves, he thought. The most sensitive of them could be reduced to needy wrecks with so little touch.

“I would show you pleasures the likes of which you have not yet dreamed,” Basim murmured, finally taking his fingers away.

Eivor had to force himself not to reach after his hand, silently demand more.

If he could do _that_ fully clothed and in public…

“You do not know the pleasures I have dreamed of,” Eivor said, wishing he sounded less short of breath as he spoke.

Basim chuckled, and it was a sound that settled deep in Eivor’s core.

Basim was not _at all_ like other alphas. Not like any alpha Eivor had ever met, and certainly no thoughtless brute who cared only for the satisfaction of his own knot.

“Perhaps you will tell me of them some day,” Basim said, rising with a soft rustle of loose silks. “In the meantime, consider my offer.”

“Have you spoken of it to Sigurd?” Eivor asked.

“No,” Basim said.

“Why not?”

“Would you accept that I am too shy?” Basim smiled a sly little smile that did nothing to ease the growing tension in Eivor’s belly.

“Under no circumstances,” Eivor said.

“Then you are as clever as you seem,” Basim said. “I bring this offer to you first because I too am capable of reading people. Sigurd may be the elder, but you are… the leader.”

Eivor turned that thought over and decided that what Basim said, for their purposes, was true. He nodded, still considering everything they’d spoken of today.

It would mean leaving England. Leaving Ubba, and Ceolbert, and Lothbrok House, a little patch of home so far away from home.

And Leofrith. It would mean never seeing Leofrith again.

But it would also mean safety and security, certainty that they would be protected.

“Hytham plans to invite you to come for afternoon tea tomorrow,” Basim said, tripping over the pronunciation of _afternoon_ the way Eivor tripped over so many English words himself. “Speak to him. I think you will find him charming.”

Eivor nodded again. He did, at least, find Hytham very beautiful, and he was sure to be as interesting as Basim. Indeed, Eivor’s experience told him that omegas were almost universally more interesting than alphas.

“I will be sure to accept his invitation,” Eivor promised.

“Do not feel you must rush in making your decision,” Basim said. “I have business in London that will keep me here for some time. It would please me to have the opportunity to enjoy more of your company. And Eivor?”

“Yes?” Eivor asked.

Basim swooped low, silk brushing Eivor’s neck as he leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I will dream of the pleasures we might share together until next we meet.”


	8. The Birds and the Bees

“Does it hurt?” Eivor blurted out in a rush as they stepped into Lord Aelfgar’s greenhouse, the air humid and close inside the enormous structure. “For an omega to take an alpha’s knot?”

Blood rushed in Leofrith’s ears at the question.

“Basim has asked me to marry him,” Eivor added, as though that, firstly, was related to his initial question, and secondly, made perfect sense.

“But he is already married,” Leofrith objected, too confused to be grateful he had not yet had to answer Eivor’s question.

Was this why Eivor had invited him here this morning? To speak to him of this?

“It is common among his people for alphas to take more than one mate,” Eivor explained. “He told me, and Sigurd confirmed it. He wants… he wants both of us. To take us away to his home.”

Where they would be safe, Leofrith thought. Far from England, far from Norway, and under the protection of a prince—minor or not. Eivor had insisted that he _was_ a minor prince and that Leofrith himself likely held more power, but Leofrith was certain the title of _prince_ was reserved for very important men.

“You have not answered my question,” Eivor prodded.

Now that his initial embarrassment had worn off, Leofrith’s heart sank.

Eivor was frightened. It was there, written clear in his pale, pleading eyes, eyes that begged Leofrith to tell him that it would be all right to go to his marriage bed.

Indeed, he had asked Leofrith, even in jest, to bed Ubba and report back on what it was like. Leofrith had understood that to mean what Ubba, specifically, was like, but now the question took on a different tone.

He paused by an oversized parlour palm to look Eivor in the eyes.

He was frightened, and he needed an answer, and he deserved to have it. If he was asking Leofrith, it was clear he did not feel he could speak of this to anyone else.

“It may, a little, the first time, if the alpha is inexperienced and the omega is nervous,” he said, and once he had begun to speak he found it was easier than he might have imagined.

Eivor was his _friend_. If he could not provide this small comfort, if he could not share what he knew of the world with him, what kind of friend was he?

“Do you not speak of this to Sigurd?” he asked, remembering belatedly that Sigurd had himself been married.

“Sigurd says it was unpleasant at best and painful at worst outside of his heats, and only tolerable during them,” Eivor said, and Leofrith’s heart sank again. “I do not wish him to know I am… apprehensive. Basim’s offer is generous, I only wish to know… I do not wish to accept it blindly. I wish to know what to expect.”

Of course. Sigurd’s marriage not been a happy one of mutual attraction—but what of the expectations Ubba had spoken of?

“Ubba led me to understand that you knew these things,” Leofrith said. “Or some things, at least.”

“I know that omegas are beautiful and soft and gentle, and that I like to touch them and have them touch me,” Eivor said, his voice trembling uncharacteristically as Leofrith glanced around again to be sure they wouldn’t be overheard.

If Eivor were overheard speaking of this with an alpha—especially one to whom he was not married—he would be ruined, and Leofrith would be branded a cad.

“I know how good their mouths feel, how sweet their scents are in pleasure, how exciting it is to taste them,” Eivor said.

A warm tendril of arousal curled its way around the pit of Leofrith’s stomach, and he willed himself not to react further to Eivor’s words. Willed himself not to imagine Eivor with another omega—especially Sigurd—discovering and enjoying the pleasures of their bodies together.

“They are wonderful,” Eivor finished with a sigh.

“I don’t disagree,” Leofrith said, though he was no longer certain he liked omegas half as well as Eivor did, despite liking them very much.

Eivor offered him a small, shy smile that made something in his chest flutter on top of all the other things in his body currently behaving in ways he would have preferred they didn’t.

“I am not immune to finding alphas attractive,” Eivor said. “But I have never so much as kissed one.”

This should not have surprised Leofrith—after all, an unmarried English omega of Eivor’s station would be expected not to have—but from the prince who had teased him so often, it was unexpected.

His confidence, apparently, came from his experience with omegas.

“Well,” Leofrith began, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to tell Eivor. How to reassure him that not all marriages were like Sigurd’s, not all alphas were like Sigurd’s.

“When you…” he paused to lower his voice, leaning in so Eivor would be able to hear him. “When you are with an omega you like, do you find that you…”

Eivor continued to look up at Leofrith, clear blue eyes both trusting and pleading, and Leofrith knew he could not let his embarrassment get the better of him.

“Do you find that you become… wet? Between your thighs?”

Eivor nodded, and Leofrith tried not to think about his thighs, or the closeness of the air around them, bearing down on him and making his breath short.

“Good. That’s… that’s good. The same should happen when you are with an alpha you like, who is appropriately attentive to you,” he said. “Who touches you in the ways you like, and uses their mouth in the ways you like.”

Eivor’s breath hitched, his eyes wide and dark. Leofrith could smell his arousal now, sweet enough to make his mouth water, but he ignored it firmly.

It was not _for_ him, so he should not enjoy it.

“And when it does happen, it eases the way for an alpha’s knot. The first time, perhaps even the first few times, your body may be very tight, and you may bleed. You will likely ache in the morning, but it should be a pleasant ache,” he added, and then hesitated. “I do not believe Basim would hurt you, Eivor. He seems considerate.”

Leofrith wanted to believe he was, at least. He wanted Eivor to be happy, to be well looked after, and not to suffer through the attentions of a clumsy or indifferent alpha for the whole of his married life.

Eivor deserved an alpha who would worship him, with their heart and deeds and body. With everything they were.

Eivor swallowed, his eyes still never leaving Leofrith’s face.

“Would you do something for me?” he asked. “A favour.”

 _Anything_ , Leofrith didn’t say, though he swore it in his heart. Anything that would ease Eivor’s mind.

Instead, he nodded.

Eivor shifted his weight between his feet, and Leofrith marvelled that he had never seen him like this before. Never so nervous or vulnerable, and never so easily trusting.

Something unfurled in his chest, delicate and fragile, but warm and wonderful all the same. He was glad, now, that he had allowed Eivor to speak more openly with him. The reward was well worth any awkwardness.

“Would you kiss me?” Eivor asked, still steadily meeting Leofrith’s eyes. “I know it is too much to ask, but I… I wish to choose my first. And I wish it to be you.”

Leofrith’s insides turned to molten heat, his eyes wide and unbelieving as he took in Eivor’s request.

“You may of course refuse me, I understand that you perhaps do not want—”

Eivor stopped with a gasp as Leofrith stepped forward, and _oh_ , the warmth of his eyes, the trust in them, even anticipation.

He wanted Leofrith to be the first alpha to kiss him.

Who was Leofrith to refuse a prince?

“Not here,” he murmured, looking around for—ah, yes. Perfect.

He led Eivor silently just a few paces away, to a plant-bound alcove where they would be hidden from view for a few moments, and looked at him once more, pulse pounding in his chest, making him feel light-headed.

“May I?” Eivor asked, reaching out tentatively.

Leofrith nodded. Good, it was good that Eivor planned to take the initiative. He did not wish to frighten him more by being too much, too aggressive.

Eivor’s gentle fingers stroked his beard at first, tentative, and Leofrith could feel the tension rolling off Eivor. He would have done anything to ease it, but he knew the best thing he _could_ do was stand here, still, and let Eivor do whatever he wished to him.

“You are so tall.” Eivor laughed nervously. “I’m not sure I can reach even on my toes.”

Leofrith’s first instinct was to lift Eivor up, hold him in his arms so they were eye level, but he knew that would be too much, and so he leaned down to make things easier for him.

Eivor’s hand curled almost instantly around the back of his neck, and it was a mistake to allow things to become _this_ intimate, but he could not have refused Eivor anything. Not when he was so nervous, not when the sweet scent of arousal still clung to him.

Not ever, Leofrith admitted to himself. He had not been able to refuse Eivor for some time. Perhaps he never had.

“Better, my prince?” Leofrith asked, and he had not intended to say _my_ prince, but if Eivor noticed, he did not react.

Instead, he closed the distance between them with agonising slowness, Leofrith’s eyes finally fluttering shut on instinct.

“Better,” Eivor murmured a hair’s breadth away from Leofrith’s lips, and then pressed forward.

It was cautious at first, just a brush of lips, tentative as it was sweet.

Leofrith allowed himself one indulgent breath of Eivor’s intoxicating scent. A memory to keep, more than he thought he would ever be allowed.

As though Eivor had not bestowed enough honours on him, this one he could hardly believe was happening.

“May I have more?” Eivor murmured.

 _There is nothing I would refuse you_ , Leofrith did not say. Again, he nodded, not trusting himself with words. He had fumbled his words so often with Eivor that he knew better than to risk it now.

Eivor made a soft, pleased sound, and pressed closer, parting his lips, lapping at the seam of Leofrith’s to encourage him to do the same.

Ubba had been truthful, there _were_ things Eivor knew.

Leofrith realised, as Eivor’s tongue stroked against his own, that he was accustomed to this, and to taking the lead. He was not aggressive, but he was forceful, fingers tightening on the back of Leofrith’s neck as he held him in place.

Leofrith barely held back the needy sound that welled up from the very pit of his stomach, determined to allow Eivor whatever he needed, instead drinking in the soft gasps of discovery he made as they kissed, and kissed, and _kissed_ , seemingly with no end in sight.

A whimper from Eivor turned his insides to liquid heat, and he knew that he would have to pull back before he was moved to do something foolish—more foolish than he had already done, in any case.

Eivor clung to him as the kiss broke, blinking slowly as he pulled back far enough to look Leofrith in the eyes.

“We cannot afford for someone to see,” Leofrith said gently, removing Eivor’s hand from his skin and missing the warmth of it as soon as it was gone.

“No, you might have to marry me,” Eivor said. “And you would not want that.”

It was the second time he had said such a thing, and the second time Leofrith had struggled to agree. This time, he said nothing, only looking Eivor over to find some clue as to his mood.

“Was it unlike kissing an omega?” Leofrith asked when Eivor was silent for a few more heartbeats, following him out of the shelter of the alcove so it would not be noticed that they had been alone, pausing to sniff at a hanging orchid and clear Eivor’s scent from his nose.

Eivor liked gardens. He had commented once that they did not have gardens like this in Norway, since the winter was so cold and dark that few plants could tolerate it. Here, in Lord Aelfgar’s collection, there were specimens from all over the world, each more exotic than the next.

They ducked under a tree fern by the entrance to the greenhouse and continued back out into the sun, where the crowd was thin but visibility was much better.

“No,” Eivor said after a long pause. “No, it was… very much like kissing an omega. Perhaps we aren’t so different after all,” he added, with a calm Leofrith was glad to see settling over him.

“I think,” Eivor spoke up again, after another pause in which Leofrith was at a loss for words. “That I could manage being married to an alpha. Especially one who had two other omegas to occupy him.”

“You will go with him, then?” Leofrith asked, chest tight at the thought, though he could not account for why.

Basim was offering Eivor the best chance at what he wanted. Safety and security for himself and his brother. That had been the aim of everything they’d done over the past weeks.

Surely, _surely_ , if Leofrith thought himself Eivor’s friend—and he did, in fact, think himself Eivor’s friend, he held the title of _friend_ close to his heart and would not let it go without a fight—then he should be happy for this satisfactory solution to his problems?

But if Eivor went with Basim, then they would never see each other again.

He did not like to think of a life without Eivor in it.

Eivor shrugged again, running his fingers over the delicate leaves of an exotic flower Leofrith could not identify. “I have promised him I will consider it, and I mean to keep that promise. It _is_ a good offer. And I should have no reason to refuse it.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Leofrith said, his tongue getting away from him. He should not have said such a thing, but he felt in his heart that Basim was not a good enough match for Eivor, that he should have better.

He had still not met an alpha he thought good enough for Eivor, with perhaps the exception of Ubba, who he was certain Eivor would simply have married if that were a viable solution to his problems.

“To the victor go the spoils.” Eivor shrugged. “Whosoever wins me must deserve me, I think. And Basim is well-placed to win me. Despite our efforts, my options are still few.”

“He is a prince,” Leofrith conceded. “You should have a prince.”

“Even if I do not have him to myself?” Eivor asked.

Leofrith wasn’t sure what he was meant to say to that. Fortunately, as they turned the corner, they found Sigurd strolling on Ceolbert’s arm. Leofrith had long enjoyed the young man’s company, but he had never been so glad to see him as he was now.

“We were just searching for you!” Sigurd enthused, letting go of Ceolbert to rush over to Eivor.

Leofrith’s stomach flipped over as he worried that Sigurd might smell his scent on Eivor, might know what they had done. If he did, though, he said nothing.

Eivor would likely tell him, he thought, in any case. They were so close that Leofrith accepted any secrets he might share with Eivor were by default also shared with Sigurd. Thankfully—or unfortunately, depending on one’s point of view—he had no particularly interesting secrets _to_ share.

“Hytham will be expecting us soon,” Sigurd said. “If you still wish to go?”

Hytham was Basim’s mate, Leofrith knew. Eivor had spoken excitedly of how pretty he was, and Leofrith now understood that he meant it not as simple aesthetic appreciation, but genuine attraction. He _liked_ omegas, the way alphas liked omegas.

It was not, Leofrith thought, unheard of, but he had never personally known any omega who felt that way. Not that he knew terribly many omegas in the first place.

“We have accepted the invitation,” Eivor said. “And I would like to get to know Hytham better. If we are to seriously consider Basim’s offer.”

“Are you seriously considering it?” Ceolbert asked, and Leofrith’s stomach clenched again. He did not wish to listen to Eivor speak of his lack of options for his future again.

“We must,” Eivor said, apology written in his eyes.

“I should miss you very dearly,” Ceolbert said.

“We will write,” Sigurd said. “And Basim is often enough in London on business, he has told me himself. You would see us again.”

Leofrith glanced at Eivor, who met his eyes instantly. They didn’t need to exchange words for Leofrith to see that they had both just heard the same thing—it seemed as though Sigurd had made up his mind to go with Basim, and where Sigurd went, Eivor would follow.

And while there may be opportunities to see Ceolbert, Leofrith would not be afforded the luxury. No alpha would allow their mate to visit a previous attachment, not even the apparently permissive Basim.

It may have been time for them to say goodbye. They may have been saying their last goodbye at this very moment.

A lead weight dropped from somewhere in Leofrith’s chest to his stomach and sat there heavily as he waited for Sigurd and then Eivor to each embrace Ceolbert, who was expressing his intention to walk back to Lothbrok House and enjoy the sunshine, rather than inconvenience Eivor and Sigurd by having them take a significant detour to drop him back in the carriage.

When Eivor turned to him, he was surprised to find that little seemed to have changed between them. There was none of the awkwardness he’d expected in Eivor’s gaze, he neither blushed nor smirked. Only looked at Leofrith as he ever had.

Because they were friends.

And Eivor had been frightened, and Leofrith had soothed him.

“Thank you for agreeing to spend the morning with me,” Eivor said. “I’m sure you have more pressing things to attend to.”

Leofrith was certain he _ought_ to have, but his estate had a good manager and Maetild ran his household admirably, so he rarely found himself with much to occupy his time at all in London. Eivor had, almost since he arrived, been the most important thing he had to attend to.

Now, he would no longer be required. There would be nothing at all for him to do in London.

Perhaps he ought to start packing his household up and planning to travel back to the country with Maetild.

“Nothing more important than the command of a prince,” he said, offering Eivor a small bow that he hoped would amuse him, and feeling satisfied with himself when Eivor laughed.

“Actually,” he added. “I might beg to keep Ceolbert company on his walk back. It would be a shame to waste the day.”

“I would be delighted by your company,” Ceolbert enthused.

“Good,” Sigurd said, taking Eivor’s arm with the barest hint of impatience. “We will leave Ceolbert in your capable hands.”

Leofrith nodded to Sigurd, watching as he all but dragged Eivor away, and marvelling at the strangeness of the morning he’d had.

❧

Basim’s London residence reminded Eivor of Lothbrok House, in the sense that as Ubba’s home was a little piece of Denmark in a foreign land, so to was Basim’s home like stepping into a little piece of Syria—at least, as Eivor had imagined it from Sigurd’s stories, and from illustrations he’d seen.

Silk carpets hung on the walls, dampening the sounds of their bare-stockinged steps—it was customary, Sigurd said, to remove one’s shoes, and Hytham was entirely barefoot, leaving Eivor fascinated by the occasional glimpse of his feet under the hem of his long robe.

He led them into an elegant drawing room lined with dark bookcases, overflowing with beautiful volumes—some titles in English, some in French, but most in that fascinating script that Basim and Hytham’s native language used. Between the books were instruments in brass and impossibly fine glass, none of which Eivor immediately understood the purpose of, but all of which he was fascinated by.

So fascinated that he entirely forgot both Sigurd and Hytham, ignoring brother and host equally to wander the shelves, staring in awe.

He stopped in front of an object that looked like a globe of the earth, but had none of the markings of land masses he expected to see there. Instead, there were engravings of all manner of beasts, and a few strange men, faint on the aged surface.

“It is a globe of the heavens,” Hytham said, moving to stand beside Eivor and look up at the object as well.

“It’s beautiful,” Eivor responded, glancing at Hytham as he looked at it, taking in the curve of his neck.

“It has been passed between my family and Basim’s for centuries,” Hytham explained.

“Your families are acquainted, then?” Eivor asked.

Hytham nodded. “Well acquainted, yes.”

“Then yours is an arranged marriage?” Eivor asked.

Hytham laughed. “No, not arranged, although when I was growing up I sometimes wished it was. Basim was so handsome and so kind, he always had time for me. Then his family were exiled, and we lost touch,” Hytham continued. “I missed him every day he was gone and asked him to marry me the moment I saw him again.”

“You asked him to marry you?” Eivor asked, surprised.

Hytham nodded. “It is not the usual way of things,” he said. “But I have loved him since before I understood what love was. I didn’t wish to risk losing him again.”

“But you know what he has proposed to Sigurd and I?”

“Of course, he spoke to me before he spoke to you,” Hytham said.

“And you are not… pained by the thought?” Eivor asked. He hadn’t consciously considered it before, but the possibility of hurting Hytham did not sit well with him.

Hytham, though, shook his head. “Why should I be? Love is not a finite resource. It is possible to love many people without diminishing one’s love for any of them.”

Eivor considered that. He considered his all-consuming love for Sigurd, a seed that had been planted when he was too young to understand love at all and had grown to tangle around his whole being, rooted in the marrow of his bones, inextricable from who he was.

But then there was also Vili, who he loved with all his heart as well, and now Ubba, and Ceolbert, who had been so kind that loving them, too, had become a part of the fabric of who Eivor was.

His mind turned to Leofrith, but he shoved the thought away hurriedly.

“Besides,” Hytham added, brushing his fingers against the back of Eivor’s hand, almost exactly as Basim had done. “He is not alone in his interest.”

Eivor swallowed thickly even as a cynical part of him brought up the possibility that Hytham had been put up to this by the ever-perceptive Basim, who might have correctly intuited that Eivor would be more easily moved by Hytham than himself.

But when Eivor met Hytham’s eyes, there was real heat in them. That was difficult to falsify.

His surprise must have shown on his face, because it made Hytham smile shyly. “We will not speak of it now,” he murmured. “Come, I invited you for tea, and tea I will provide.”

Eivor followed Hytham back over to the low, plush settees that were so unlike what was fashionable in England, big fluffy clouds of softness that Eivor’s weary body was pleased to sink into after everything that had happened over the last few days.

It felt as though it had been _years_ of time, but things were suddenly happening so quickly.

He had the proposal he has wished for—even if he could never have imagined the alpha it came from, or the form it would take.

It would take a fool to refuse it. He had concocted a complex scheme and dragged poor Leofrith into it, and it had all been for nothing—Basim had been travelling here, to propose, almost the entire time Eivor had been flaunting himself in front of every unattached alpha in London, hoping one would be so taken with him that they would ignore every downside to a marriage and agree to everything he needed them to without a second thought.

In the end, only Leofrith had been so kind. Leofrith, who did not wish to be married at all.

Eivor watched Hytham over the rim of his beautiful tea cup, painted in patterns more intricate and colourful than he had seen before, and thought that perhaps they could be happy, the four of them.

Hytham and Sigurd were certainly getting along, Sigurd sharing travel stories and Hytham filling in more detail for him about the places he’d been, as he imagined Basim had also done.

“And what of you, Eivor?” Hytham spoke up, deftly turning the conversation in Eivor’s direction the instant he perceived Eivor’s attention wandering.

He was truly the mate of a prince. Confident and elegant and everything Basim must have wanted in a partner.

Eivor smiled at the thought of the other omega demanding marriage from a man he loved, and then again at the thought that he had gotten it. Everything he wished for.

If Hytham—who seemed clever, and sensible—wanted Basim, then Eivor was bound to take that as a sign that Basim was a good choice.

“Have you travelled far?” Hytham asked, pouring more tea into Sigurd’s cup.

“I was never allowed to travel,” Eivor responded with more bitterness than he intended. “But I understand your home is beautiful,” he added, hoping to cover up the slip.

“It is,” Hytham agreed. “You would like it, I think. Although you may take some time to get used to the heat.”

Sigurd chuckled wryly, and Eivor remembered him complaining of it on his return. But that had not been the core of his stories—the core of his stories had been that he adored it.

Of course he would want to go back. To escape all this fear and uncertainty and go to somewhere warm and safe where he would be loved, desired, cherished, and where he would stand out even more than usual. Sigurd always aimed to stand out.

They talked through two further pots of tea, speaking of inconsequential things—their interests, their histories, their views on England and the people therein. Sigurd spoke fondly of Ubba and Ceolbert, but Eivor found himself guarding his memories of Leofrith, as though sharing them would mean giving parts of them away.

Once, twice, three times, Hytham’s hand brushed against Eivor’s, and when Eivor risked a glance at him, the unasked question between them still hung in his eyes. Eivor’s curiosity—always his most dangerous personality trait—was well and truly piqued.

Basim’s arrival startled all three of them, and Eivor watched as he greeted Hytham with a soft, deep kiss that they drew out for long moments before parting satisfied, even in front of company. Once again, Eivor’s cynicism wanted him to believe it was staged, but then why would it be? Basim had something to gain by enticing Eivor and Sigurd to marry him, if his gamble paid off, but he held all the cards.

He did not _need_ to fool them into thinking he was unusually affectionate with Hytham.

Eivor’s stomach bottomed out as he watched Basim murmur something into Hytham’s ear, nose brushing his cheek, lips turned up into a smile, and Hytham giggled in response, nodding into Basim’s shoulder.

They were sweet together, and that was another thing that could not be faked.

Suddenly, he ached for that sweetness. To have someone who would love him as Basim clearly loved Hytham.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Basim said. “I had a little time between appointments and I hoped I would be welcome to join the three of you.”

A general murmur of agreement that he was, of course, welcome, ended in Basim settling beside Sigurd and pouring himself a cup of tea with practiced ease, elegant fingers that Eivor couldn’t look away from deftly handling the pot.

“I assume you have been talking about me,” Basim said. “And I would like to assure you that everything Hytham says is likely true. The worse it is, the more likely,” he added with one of those charming smiles that Eivor was beginning to think were the natural way his face looked when he smile.

Hytham chuckled. “You think too much of yourself,” he said. “I don’t believe you’ve even come up.”

He had, but only in the context of Hytham telling stories of his life. They had not spoken _of_ Basim at all, of what he was like, of what kind of man he was.

Eivor now realised this was deliberate—Hytham had intentionally not tried to convince them that Basim was a good man. He was allowing them to draw their own conclusions.

It was difficult to draw any other than that he was exactly as he seemed, and the offer he made was both sincere and favourable.

“This gives me an opportunity to show Eivor that painting without abandoning Sigurd,” Hytham said, rising from his place. “Eivor?”

They had not discussed a painting, and even if they had, Hytham could merely have brought Sigurd along with them.

No, with a sudden jolt of anticipation, Eivor knew _exactly_ what Hytham was doing. He stood, and followed, leaving Sigurd alone with Basim—which there was no harm in, since Sigurd having been married before gave him leave to spend as much unsupervised time with an alpha as he might wish.

He followed Hytham upstairs, through more richly decorated halls and past innumerable doors, and realised that minor prince or not, Basim was a wealthy man. This, Eivor suspected, was why he’d wanted the two of them to see his home.

Or perhaps he was merely being hospitable. Why could Eivor not accept that? Why shouldn’t he leap at the chance to be under the protection of such a man, who had been nothing but kind and generous with the two of them?

Leofrith was certain Basim would not harm him, and he had been an excellent judge of character thus far. Why could he not simply trust what his friend was telling him?

Soon enough, he found himself in a beautifully-decorated parlour with high windows that looked out onto the park behind the house, the air thick with the scent of an omega. Hytham, specifically. This was his space, and, Eivor was surprised to find, his alone. There was no trace of Basim anywhere here.

“Forgive me for my lack of subtlety,” Hytham said, motioning Eivor over to another small, plush settee that he sank deeply into, weary body grateful for the rest.

He felt as though he had not slept properly since he left home, and there _was_ something restful about Hytham. Basim, too. Neither of them ever seemed to be in any kind of rush.

His eyes were already closed when he felt the brush of Hytham’s fingers against his hand again, asking a silent question.

Eivor could resist anything but the temptation of a pretty omega. What he’d said to Leofrith about the burden of his reputation was true—he had one, and it was for exactly this.

Hytham could hardly have known that, though.

“I’m not sure either Sigurd or Basim noticed,” Eivor said, turning his gaze on Hytham. Taking in long, dark lashes, the neat sweep of his jaw, the long curve of his neck.

“They seem very taken with one another,” Hytham agreed, almost breathless. Eivor could nearly taste the quickening of his heartbeat in the air between them, the sweet-tart note of anticipation in Hytham’s scent making his belly tight.

He thought of Leofrith, who had smelled only warm and comforting, like a mug of hot chocolate on an icy winter day, or a warm lavender bath to soothe aching muscles.

Hytham was nothing like that, instead reminding Eivor of summer fruits at the very peak of their ripeness.

“And what of you, Hytham?” Eivor asked, shifting closer to the other omega, allowing himself to breathe deeply of his scent. “Are you taken with Sigurd as well?”

“Very,” Hytham admitted shyly, and this close Eivor could see that he did show a blush, a darkening of his beautiful skin along the cheekbones. “But not nearly as taken with him as with you.”

Eivor smiled, Hytham’s soft confession breaking down the last of his resistance, and leaned in to close the gap between them.

He hummed softly as his lips brushed Hytham’s, fingers stealing greedily into the short hair as he tucked his thumb behind Hytham’s delicate ear, searching for the sensitive spot there and smiling as a gasp parted Hytham’s lips and allowed him to plunge his tongue into his mouth, search for the taste of him there.

This was good, and familiar, and easy. No complexity of feeling, no fear, only the simple pleasure of a sweet, pretty omega to hold, and touch, and kiss.

Yet even as his body registered the pleasure of Hytham’s touch, of his warmth, of his taste, his mind brought him back to larger hands at his waist, a deeper scent, the feeling of being robed in comfort and safety as he had this morning, for a brief, glimmering moment that still shone so brightly in his mind.

He pushed it away and kissed Hytham harder, drawing a gasp and a pleased sound from him, hands suddenly desperate at his long, voluminous robe, scrambling to push it out of the way and lose himself in the oblivion of something that did _not_ make his ribcage feel a size too small for his heart.

Hytham’s gentle hands over his stopped him a moment later.

“Eivor,” he murmured. “I want to give you more, but I cannot unless…”

Unless he married Basim. Naturally.

Eivor’s stomach sank.

“Did he put you up to this?” he asked, suddenly afraid that he’d crossed a line he didn’t wish to, that Hytham was being used.

Hytham shook his head. “I asked him if it would be all right, and he agreed. He agreed to more than this,” Hytham said. “But I cannot give you more without knowing I can keep you.”

Eivor sighed, meeting Hytham’s eyes and looking into them for long moments. He saw only kindness there, no deception, and still the glowing embers of heat that made him want to press his skin to Hytham’s and make him laugh and cry out and pant his name, breathless and high pitched, begging for more of Eivor’s touch.

“I do want more,” Eivor said, pretending to himself that it was true. It was, in a way, but he knew it was not the same more Hytham wanted, and it threatened to crack his already battered heart to know that he could not give this sweet omega who was offering him everything he’d said he wanted the one thing he was asking for.

Hytham smiled a hopeful little smile. “Do not rush to decide,” he said. “I can be patient, if you can.”

Eivor laughed, collapsing back into the settee and only then noticing the beautiful mural on the ceiling, painted in expressive strokes and brilliant colours. “Patience is not one of my usual virtues,” he said. “But I will try.”

When they returned to the drawing room, Sigurd and Basim were deep in amicable conversation, leaning close to one another, but not quite in a compromising position. Eivor had expected different—he had thought Basim would take this opportunity, and that Sigurd wanted his affectionate touch.

But no. No, Eivor began to see that the match between them was different. Sigurd never spoke of Basim as handsome or even charming, only as clever, kind, knowledgeable. Not the attributes, Eivor thought, of a lover.

He spoke of Ubba as handsome and charming.

That meant something, Eivor thought. Though whether or not that something was important remained to be seen. As they bid farewell to Basim and headed for Lothbrok House, Eivor realised he was, it anything, even less sure about the question before the two of them than he had been at the beginning of the day.

After supper and a few hands of cards with Ceolbert—he would one day make an excellent Bridge player—Eivor retired with thoughts of Basim and Hytham swirling in his head.

He blew out his candle and snuggled under the light blanket thrown over his bed, heavier than was required for the warmth of the evening.

Basim. Basim was…

He was beautiful. Not like a Norse or Dane alpha, and not like an English one either, but beautiful in his own way. Dark and mysterious and lovely, and as Eivor tossed the blanket aside, gathered up the excess of his nightshirt, and let his fingers trail along the soft skin of his thighs, it was easy to imagine that they were Basim’s lips, the silken hairs of his beard teasing sensitive flesh, inching up towards—

 _Ah_.

Gods, it had been too long since he’d done this. Too long since he’d felt safe to.

Eivor bit his lip as he teased himself, pinching and rubbing between his thighs with one hand and letting the other roam, his eyes falling closed as he imagined elegant fingers teasing him, that gorgeous rumbling laughter as Basim explored his flesh with infinite patience.

And Hytham. Pretty, sweet, warm Hytham, who Eivor might press into the mattress and explore the same way, kissing from his neck to his navel, breathing in his scent and tasting him wherever he liked, both of their hands eager with the thrill of discovery.

_Oh._

Eivor paused to catch his breath as his own fingers slipped inside his body, already slick at the mere thought of the two of them.

For a few perfect moments, Eivor’s mind quieted and his body _felt_ , felt the touch of his own hands against needy flesh as he pictured the delightful contrast between Basim and Hytham’s skin and his own, their bodies tangled up together as he kissed Eivor everywhere he was desperate for it.

Basim would kiss him, starting behind his ear, nuzzling the sensitive flesh of his neck, his throat, teasing a bite with the scrape of his teeth, laughing as he moved to explore the ridges of Eivor’s collarbones.

Yes, _yes_.

Slowly, slowly, ever so slow, pressing his nose to Eivor’s skin and breathing deep, a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest and making Eivor’s belly tight with need. Hands roaming, delicate touches against overheated skin, alternating between soothing and stoking, _oh_ , gods, yes, he’d waited too long, much too long.

“Yes,” he gasped to himself, soft encouragement as his back arched away from the mattress and he imagined a low, familiar hum in his ear that set his blood aflame.

He bit his lip as the imagined hands became larger, broader, rougher. Still the same dark hair, but the skin paler, the beard coarser, scratching against his skin, leaving fire-trails of need in its wake.

He whined as his own fingers plunged deeper, and tried to pretend to himself that he was not imagining them thicker, work-calloused, no longer the soft hands of a prince, but it was no use. The image of his beautiful dark prince who was kind and easy to be with and promised him everything was gone, replaced by another, another Eivor could not bring himself to name but also could not bring himself to dismiss.

A strong, heavy body pressed him down into the mattress, flipped him over, parted his thighs and kneaded his backside, large hands spreading him further still, dipping down to slide inside him again, thick and full, a preview of the knot Eivor was about to take.

He would be impossibly gentle, considerate. He would not hurt Eivor, he knew Eivor was unsure, but he would soothe the worry with soft kisses and murmured praises, voice low and dark and accented in entirely the wrong way. This alpha was kind, and giving, and defenceless against him. Concerned only with his pleasure, his happiness, anxious to satisfy him in every way.

This alpha smelled of comfort and safety and the promise of pleasure Eivor truly had never dreamt of, belly aching with need for, for…

He peaked suddenly, the wrong name just barely unspoken on his lips but clear in his heart, and collapsed into the mattress.

He tried to force himself once more to think of Basim, gathering him into his arms and lapping at his fevered skin, or Hytham snuggling against him with breathless laughter, but the arms were too large, the body too warm, the scent too familiar.

He fell instead into a fitful sleep that made him grateful when the sun cracked the sky open, for he would no longer need to dream of the wrong alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to note that the globe Eivor and Hytham are looking at is [a real live thing with real live assassin connections](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYa1Jg-7Elc), couldn't resist slipping it in :D


	9. Scars

Leofrith carried the secret that Eivor had kissed him at first like a sharp object, conscious of it every waking moment and always afraid that he may slip and hurt someone with it. Then he began to see it as a small wild thing, a chick fallen from its nest, fragile but in need of care, and he tucked it into the inside pocket of his waistcoat where it would be protected from the world, where no one else would ever know about it.

Somewhere along the line it became a precious jewel, priceless, irreplaceable, too valuable for anyone to ever find out he might have it, and so he hung it around his neck where it lay against his heart and he could feel it there always, and the knowledge made him ache.

“Go to them, Ceolbert,” Leofrith said, nodding to Eivor and Sigurd, who Ceolbert was watching as they tossed lines into the river.

Fishing. He should have known, perhaps, but he would never have guessed. It was not the pursuit of an omega, but these were no ordinary omegas. By now it should have come as no surprise.

Nor should it have come as any surprise to see Ubba more cautious with Sigurd today, hesitating to touch him, keeping his distance as he had not done before.

His heart must have been breaking.

They were alone for a quiet picnic, just the five of them—Eivor and Sigurd, Ubba, Ceolbert, and Leofrith, who felt even as he sat in the sun and breathed in the scent of the grass and the brackish river, far enough from the inner city now that the air was clean and fresh, as though he did not quite belong.

Tomorrow, Eivor and Sigurd planned on accepting Basim's offer of marriage.

“Are you certain?” Ceolbert said. “I should not like to leave you alone. You could just as easily join us.”

Leofrith shook his head. His shoulder was warning him that he ought not to tax it, even by tossing a fishing line into the water.

Besides, he was no longer certain where he stood with Eivor. Like Ubba, he hesitated, though there had never…

Well, he _wanted_ to think there had never been any real affection between them, but there was, wasn’t there?

But he was not sure of the shape of it, on either Eivor’s part or his own. He told himself it was the affection of a friendship, the first flush of excitement at getting to know another person who spoke to his soul.

Yes. Friendship. He would call it that.

“Go,” Leofrith said, with a kind smile he almost felt in his heart. “I am a grown man capable of keeping my own company, but I am too old to play at fishing. You have limited time left with them. Make the most of it.”

He might have given that advice to himself, but he chose not to.

Leofrith had begun preparing to pack his things and go back to his country home where he could seclude himself in peace and spend most of his time outdoors. He wished, and then hated himself for wishing, that Eivor could see it.

He thought Eivor would like it.

He thought he would give Eivor leave to change anything he didn’t like so it might suit him, so he might enjoy it as much as he possibly could.

Maetild had her husband back, and Leofrith was both thrilled for her and missed her company in equal measures, and so had jumped at the chance to be included in what felt, increasingly, like a family affair.

They had adopted him, he thought. As they had adopted Ceolbert. And soon they would leave, and he would never see them again, and he could not let the opportunity to see them _now_ pass him by, lest it be the last.

It was just as Leofrith had accepted his fate as adopted older brother—or something—to Eivor and Sigurd that he heard a shout, and a splash, and looked over to see that Eivor had disappeared.

He was on his feet, aching shoulder forgotten, before he’d finished registering what had happened. Coat, waistcoat and shoes were kicked off as he closed the distance between the blanket and the bank and dove into the murky water without a second thought.

Someone was shouting—or perhaps had been shouting, as he ran—but his mind could make no sense of it, too full of fear for Eivor.

People drowned. People drowned all the time, Leofrith remembered hearing of the drownings of other children when he was a boy, and he was no strong swimmer himself, but he could manage this. He had to, he couldn’t risk the loss.

The river was frigidly cold despite the sunshine, muddy and murky, filled with plant life and small fish that scattered in Leofrith’s wake as he pushed through the water, searching for the blue of the coat Eivor had been wearing despite not being able to see more than an arm’s length ahead of himself.

Panic rose in his chest as he began to run out of breath, arms groping ahead of him uselessly, Eivor nowhere to be found and Leofrith now tangled in the long tendrils of underwater plants, grasping at his ankles as he kicked forward in his desperate search.

Where was he? Surely not carried away, not so soon, surely there was still _hope_ , surely.

A sudden rush of fear that Eivor was already lost knocked the held breath from Leofrith’s lungs, and he nearly choked on a mouthful of water as his shoulder froze, the pain jolting his whole body. Leofrith writhed in the water, trying to turn himself over so he might float, struggling to recover himself before he, too, drowned.

The pressure of a hand on Leofrith’s shirt tugged him upward, pulled him toward the sunlight above. Ubba perhaps, or even Ceolbert, he thought, now coming to his rescue as he’d failed to come to Eivor’s.

When he finally breached the surface, coughing and spluttering as his lungs burned for air, it was Eivor who squinted in the harsh sunlight at him, calmly treading water.

Leofrith blinked at him.

“You know how to swim,” he said after a moment, barely keeping himself afloat as Eivor bobbed in the water, calm as could be.

“You do not,” Eivor said, which was true. In an emergency, Leofrith could move himself through the water, but he could not _swim_. Not, clearly, with the ease that Eivor could.

His cheeks burned as he realised he’d made a fool of himself.

Eivor hung onto him as they made their way back to the bank, accepting Sigurd’s help to climb out while Leofrith was left to the mercies of Ubba and Ceolbert both, Ubba chuckling the entire time. Not cruelly—he was not a cruel man—but the lack of malice did nothing to soothe Leofrith’s mortification.

“I did tell you he could swim,” Sigurd said, looking Leofrith up and down as he stood.

Yes, he had. That was what he’d been shouting. Not pleas to save Eivor, but pleas not to jump in after him, because there was no need.

Eivor looked him up and down as well, and Leofrith was very aware of the soaking wet silk shirt that was now clinging to every inch of his body and likely nearly transparent.

Eivor was equally soaked, but he was still in coat and waistcoat, with less of his body revealed.

Leofrith stood stupidly as Ubba shook out the picnic blanket and wrapped it around Eivor’s shoulders. Always attentive. Always the perfect alpha.

Sigurd’s interest in him was no surprise.

“Thank you for the valiant rescue,” Eivor said, a teasing smile playing around his lips even as he shuddered with the cold, closing the distance between them and dripping copiously every step of the way.

He would need to go home to a warm bath and dry clothes, Leofrith thought, or he would risk catching his death of cold.

The movement of his shoulder as he straightened his back made him groan, the cold shirt only making his muscles cramp more painfully.

“Are you hurt?” Eivor asked, stepping toward him, brow creased with concern.

“It’s only my shoulder,” Leofrith said, pressing the heel of his hand into the joint and hoping that the way he was panting for breath could be explained by the exertion, and not the pain.

Once again, he did not wish Eivor to see him weak.

“Come,” Eivor said, taking his hand without a moment’s care for who might see. But of course, no one would. No one who would betray him, no one who thought it improper that he should be so close to an alpha, that the two of them might be _friends_. He would have touched Ubba, Leofrith thought, with the same ease.

It was an honour to be so easily trusted, to have been folded into the confidence of an omega who had so much to fear.

He wished he had realised sooner what Eivor was offering him, he wished he had not so resisted their closeness.

Eivor pulled him down onto a sunny patch of dry grass, and Leofrith went without complaint, sitting perfectly still as Eivor threw the picnic blanket over his shoulders as well, pressed close to his side, the two of them sopping wet and Eivor shivering finely. If Leofrith could provide some useful warmth, he was happy to do so.

He tried not to watch with too much interest as Eivor unbuttoned coat and waistcoat.

“You ought to remove your wet shirt,” Eivor said. “It will only make your shoulder ache more.”

He was right, and he said it so simply that Leofrith was once again surprised by how straightforward Eivor could be. For all his cunning, he was also blunt as a farrier’s hammer.

“No one will see,” Eivor added gently, anticipating the concern Leofrith had been about to voice.

“You will,” Leofrith pointed out.

Eivor laughed, though it was punctuated by a hard shiver. “Why should it matter if I see? I will not tell of it. Nor would anyone else here. You are among friends.”

Leofrith huffed, squirming as he peeled his soaked stockings off. Those, at least, would dry, and he felt that everyone present seeing his calves and feet would be no particular cause for scandal.

He was not ashamed of his body, nor shy about it—his military service would have knocked that out of him if he ever had been. But this was _Eivor_. Eivor, who had never so much as kissed an alpha just a handful of days ago.

Surely it was Leofrith’s duty to protect _his_ modesty?

He looked up at the others just in time to see Ubba shrugging off his waistcoat and then, with none of the self-consciousness Leofrith was wrestling with, tug his shirt over his head and hold it out.

To Eivor.

“You’ll catch your death if you stay in those clothes,” he said, echoing the thought that had come to Leofrith earlier. “Take this.”

Leofrith was too busy staring at the intricate pattern of inked lines over Ubba’s arms and torso to react to the squelch of Eivor standing.

“I cannot leave you cold, Ubba,” Eivor said.

Ubba huffed. “It will take more than a summer breeze to chill this weathered flesh. Take it, or I’ll have Sigurd make you take it.”

Eivor glanced at Sigurd, a motion Leofrith only barely caught, still transfixed by Ubba’s tattoos.

He had seen tattoos before, of course—many army and navy men had them, though he himself had never gotten to it. This was different though. More extensive. The skilled hand of a professional, not an untidy job done out of boredom between engagements or as a rite of passage, though Leofrith felt that perhaps some of them were that as well.

“Fine,” Eivor huffed, defeated, and Leofrith’s attention snapped back to him as he shivered again.

“We all have them,” Eivor added. “Sigurd has the most beautiful pattern that runs from his collarbones down to his ribs and then over his hips.”

It took Leofrith a moment to realise that Eivor was talking about the tattoos, and then he found himself looking at Sigurd, searching for them even though he was fully clothed. Sigurd would of course have something beautiful—he _was_ beautiful, and he took every opportunity to make the most of his appearance.

Leofrith turned his mind firmly from considering what he might look like naked.

“You haven’t noticed the raven?” Sigurd asked, nodding to Eivor. “It’s beautiful, I wish he wouldn’t cover it growing his hair out.”

Leofrith blinked at Eivor, who was stripping coat and waistcoat off, revealing a shirt that was not _quite_ as soaked as his own, but was certainly damp.

“It’s here,” Eivor said, running his finger over a braid that curved over his ear.

Leofrith peered closely at Eivor then, and detected what he thought might be the tip of a beak in black ink on his scalp, nestled between his braids.

He imagined Sigurd running his thumb over it with the same reverence his voice held, and then imagined, just for a moment, how the bumps of Eivor’s braids might feel under the pad of his own thumb.

“Leofrith,” Eivor said, drawing Leofrith’s attention back to the present. “Would you hold the blanket up for me to change behind? I would not want to ruin Ceolbert’s modesty.”

Leofrith blinked at Eivor, then glanced at Ceolbert, who looked as though he _wanted_ to object that he would survive seeing a disrobed omega, but was keenly aware that he may not.

“What of poor Leofrith’s modesty?” Sigurd asked, feigning shock, his hand fluttering dramatically to land over his heart.

Eivor laughed, cheerful and hearty despite the fact that he was still dripping water onto the grass in his damp shirt and breeches, neither of which Leofrith was game to look too closely at while they were clinging so tightly to his body.

“He will be on the other side of the blanket,” Eivor said.

And so it came to pass that Leofrith stood holding the picnic blanket in front of the carriage, creating a sort of dressing room for Eivor while he stripped the remainder of his clothes off with the occasional soft sound of effort.

Leofrith had just finished silently reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy and was considering something from King Lear in an attempt to stop himself from being tempted to imagine what Eivor might look like unclothed when Eivor ducked out from under the blanket, dressed only in Ubba’s shirt, which on Eivor would have served as more modest nightclothes than Leofrith suspected he wore.

To his dismay, Leofrith groaned as he lowered the blanket, his shoulder protesting once more.

Eivor’s face fell, and he closed the distance between them with his hand extended, worry written in the sweet lines of his face once more.

“Your shoulder,” he said, brow creased. “You must think me unforgivably inconsiderate.”

Leofrith shook his head. “I was honoured,” he said, and it was true. A little stiffness in his shoulder was a small price to pay for the warmth he felt at knowing Eivor had trusted him not to peek.

“You have always acted to protect me,” Eivor said, reaching out as though he might touch Leofrith’s shoulder, his hand hovering between them for a heartbeat before he seemed to think better of it. “But I do not like to think of you in pain.”

“I have known worse pain than this,” Leofrith said.

“That is not comforting,” Eivor pointed out.

“I will recover,” Leofrith said as Ubba took the blanket from him.

“You will recover more quickly without that damp shirt,” Ubba said, looking at Leofrith pointedly.

There was a scar or two marking his torso, as well. None so glaringly ugly as the bullet wound to Leofrith’s shoulder, but Ubba was, Leofrith realised, not entirely a man of peace. Not _quite_ the well-to-do merchant he appeared to be, which Leofrith had thought him up to this moment.

But now he could see it, the same war-weariness that had set in Leofrith’s own bones weighing Ubba down.

For a moment, Leofrith’s heart truly ached for him. Ubba would likely have done anything to settle with a pretty omega who liked him, with whom he could share the easy affection Leofrith had seen between him and Sigurd. But like Leofrith, he must have known from the moment he met the two princes that he was simply not good enough for them. He would simply never do.

With a sigh, Leofrith tugged off his shirt, grunting at the jolt of pain that ran through his shoulder. He had not wanted anyone—Eivor especially—to see the twisted scar at his shoulder, but why should he worry any longer?

A sharp gasp from Eivor made him flinch all the same, but a moment later the soft touch of fingers at his back, directly over the scar, made the whole world stop turning.

He stood frozen at the gentle touch, screwing his eyes closed in anticipation of whatever judgement Eivor was about to make.

“No wonder you ache,” Eivor said. “This is almost as bad as mine.”

“Than yours?” Leofrith asked, turning instantly in his confusion.

Eivor smiled, a shy, trembling little thing that might have bolted at any moment, but stood fast as he pulled back the curtain of his braids and tugged aside the too-wide neck of his borrowed shirt to reveal an extensive scar on his neck, twisted but long-healed, disappearing up into his hair.

It was normally hidden by the combination of his hair and his high collars, which Leofrith now realised were not _only_ intended to enhance the elegant lines of his throat.

“Oh,” Leofrith said, blinking in surprise. His fingers itched to reach out, and before he could stop himself his hand was halfway to Eivor, and then Eivor turned, just the slightest bit, to allow it.

“A wolf,” Eivor explained as Leofrith made contact. “When I was very small.”

“Sigurd rescued you,” Leofrith said, recalling what Ubba had told him. He had heard the story, but he had not considered the possibility of a scar.

Eivor’s unbroken skin was just as Leofrith might have imagined, pale and delicate and princely. The scar did nothing to ruin his beauty, but he was suddenly so _human_. An ordinary person, hurt and vulnerable and warm and soft, beautiful and damaged, clever and sharp but cheerful, and loving, and good, and kind.

“And has regretted it since,” Eivor joked.

“Never,” Sigurd said, clearly a response he had given many, many times. “You have been an endless joy.”

A pretty blush rose high on Eivor’s cheeks as Leofrith’s fingers probed the outline of the scar, drawing the slightest inhale of breath, the faintest speeding up of the pulse under Leofrith’s thumb. The whole world had melted away and left just the two of them, finally seeing each other’s scars.

Ubba cleared his throat, and the moment shattered like a dropped glass, and Leofrith knew he would have to be careful not to cut himself on any of the pieces.

“We should get Eivor home,” Ubba said. Leofrith glanced up, and the two alphas shared a look of understanding—of the loss they were on the verge of incurring.

He nodded, and took a firm step away from Eivor.

“Of course,” he said. “I would not wish you to become ill.”

“You must take care of yourself as well,” Eivor said. “I expect to see you at that gallery opening tomorrow afternoon, and I will be insufferable if you sniffle your way through it.”

A smile spread over Leofrith’s face without his mind entirely intending it. Despite the lead weight in his stomach at the thought of saying goodbye to Eivor, he could not stop himself from enjoying his company.

“You will be insufferable regardless, Eivor,” he teased, though he did not mean it.

He had not meant it for some time.

“Only for you, dearest Leofrith,” Eivor said, bowing dramatically from the carriage step as Ubba handed him up and laughing as Sigurd shoved him inside.

❧

“Oh Sigurd, _you_ are my truest love,” Eivor said as Sigurd handed him a cup of heavily-honeyed tea, setting the tray on the nightstand before taking his own cup and slipping into the bed beside him.

Sigurd chuckled, sitting up primly and touching the rim of his teacup to his lips before evidently deciding it was still too hot to drink.

“Not the heroic Leofrith?” he asked.

“No,” Eivor said, drawing his knees up to his chest under the blankets and balancing the teacup between them. If he was the tiniest bit flushed, it was only from the warmth of the tea.

“No one could ever replace you in my heart,” Eivor said seriously. Partly because it was true, and partly because, once again, he did not wish to speak of Leofrith. Not if it could be at all avoided.

“He need not replace me to have a space for himself there,” Sigurd said. “It is possible to love many people.”

“You sound like Hytham,” Eivor said, sipping his too-hot tea to give his mouth something to do rather than speak.

“Oh?” Sigurd raised an eyebrow, long hair falling over his shoulder, freed from his braids and still damp from washing.

“Mm,” Eivor hummed. “He told me that Basim could love all of us without it meaning any less. Not in so many words.”

Sigurd nodded, finally risking a sip of his tea. “Do you think he could?” he asked. “Love all of us. Basim, I mean.”

Eivor had caught Sigurd’s meaning in the first place, but he did not begrudge Sigurd his nerves.

They had planned to accept him tomorrow.

“He loves you,” Eivor said, and he meant it. He _believed_ it.

Basim looked at Sigurd like a man under a spell. This did not make him unique—far from it, Sigurd had a way of enchanting alphas without even the slightest effort—but it did, to Eivor’s mind, make him sincere.

Eivor knew, in his own heart, that Basim loved Sigurd.

What he did not know, what he did not think at all, was that Sigurd loved Basim.

Sigurd swallowed another mouthful of tea in silence, and for just the second time in his life, Eivor could feel a chasm opening between them, as though the earth itself had split and was pulling them apart.

The first had been on the eve of Sigurd’s wedding to Randvi.

The feeling made his stomach ache so badly that he could not bring himself to so much as sip his tea.

“He will love you,” Sigurd says. “You are more like him than I.”

“That is ample reason for him to loathe me,” Eivor said, aiming at light-hearted but falling, he felt, quite far short.

“But I love _you_ , Sigurd,” he added. “And that is enough for me. If it is enough for you.”

“You have always been enough for me,” Sigurd said, his fingers curling around Eivor’s where his hand lay between them on the blankets. “I wish I could have been an alpha for you,” he added, barely a whisper.

They had spoken of this before. In their darkest moments. What it might have been like if one of them had been born different. Wishing for things they could not have, for a life they were not destined to lead. It was a scar, too, one that ran deep over their hearts, as real and present as the one on Leofrith’s shoulder or Eivor’s neck.

“Or I for you,” Eivor teased.

“You _would_ make the better alpha,” Sigurd said. “I do not have the heart for it.”

“You have the heart of a lion,” Eivor said, squeezing Sigurd’s fingers.

“I think if anyone is going to take the title of lion-heart, it ought to be Leofrith,” Sigurd said. “He cannot swim, yet he rushed to rescue you without a second thought.”

Eivor chuckled, heat rising to his cheeks again.

“He is a true friend and a good alpha,” Eivor agreed.

“Excellent qualities for a mate to have,” Sigurd said, sipping his tea casually, his hand turning over to link their fingers together. “And we _all_ saw what he looks like under that shirt. I thought Ubba might faint.”

Eivor laughed at that, remembering, indeed, the look Ubba had given Leofrith when he hadn’t been looking.

“He was _fascinated_ by the idea of your tattoos,” Eivor said, finishing his tea off and setting the cup aside and watching Sigurd do the same.

“And yours,” Sigurd said, turning to press lightly on Eivor’s shoulder, pushing him down into the soft mattress among the excessive pillows. “He must wonder where the others are,” Sigurd said, tracing the remembered lines of them even through the layer of Eivor’s nightshirt with sure fingers. Eivor burst into giggles as Sigurd brushed over the sensitive skin under his ribs.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Eivor said.

Which was a mistake. He barely registered the gleam in Sigurd’s eyes before Sigurd straddled his hips, pinning Eivor in place.

“Would I not?” he asked, a slow smile spreading over his face.

Eivor only had time to take in a sharp breath before Sigurd’s hands were on him, seeking out long-known sensitive places relentlessly, leaving Eivor squirming and laughing helplessly under him gasping for breath as tears stung at his eyes.

“Sigurd, _Sigurd_ ,” he objected, voice already strained, succeeding only in making Sigurd laugh louder than before.

Well, _two_ could play at this game.

With a growl, Eivor surged up, using Sigurd’s surprise to flip the two of them over as he got his own fingers in under Sigurd’s ribs, aiming for the tattoos there, which were even more sensitive than the rest of his flesh.

Sigurd howled with laughter and collapsed on himself as though his strings had been cut, weakness thoroughly taken advantage of.

“Eivor!” he shouted between bouts of helpless giggling, but Eivor had no more intention of relenting than Sigurd did, not even when Sigurd summoned the strength to strike back.

They wrestled, laughing helplessly, until they both tumbled off the bed and onto the floor with a thud that only made them laugh harder. Sigurd collapsed exhausted on top of Eivor, his comforting weight anchoring Eivor to the plush bedside rug as they caught their breath.

“I hope Ubba didn’t hear that,” Sigurd said wryly. “What would he think of us?”

“We both know what he thinks of _you_ ,” Eivor said, tucking Sigurd’s hair behind his ear. “You could do no wrong in his eyes.”

Sigurd huffed, but it was true, and they both knew it. Ubba adored Sigurd.

More importantly, Sigurd adored Ubba.

And he did not adore Basim, not in the same way.

“I can do no wrong in your eyes, either,” Sigurd said softly.

“Of course not,” Eivor said, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat. “Because I love you. With all of my heart.”

Sigurd sighed, pecked Eivor on the lips, and then rolled off him to stand, helping him up from the floor and then back into the bed, climbing in after him.

“Leofrith would give his lands and title to be where I am now,” Sigurd said, laying his hand on Eivor’s side, squeezing lightly as his thumb traced patterns on the fabric of his nightshirt.

Eivor snorted, but he knew he was blushing once again.

“He _would_ make a good mate,” Sigurd added.

“He would,” Eivor conceded. Here, in the protective cocoon of his bedroom in Lothbrok House—the safest he’d ever felt in his life, precarious as that safety was—he could admit to Sigurd that he did, in fact, think Leofrith would make a good mate.

“As would Ubba,” he added.

Sigurd glanced away, his good humour evaporating instantly.

“As would Ubba,” he agreed softly. “But we are to marry Basim.”

Basim was handsome, and kind, and in a position to protect them both.

But he was not Ubba, and Eivor could see now where Sigurd’s heart truly lay. Was the whole point of finding himself a mate not to allow Sigurd to have his choice?

Basim was not his choice.

Eivor had failed him. He should have had his perfect suitor by now, an alpha who could underwrite their place here, one with a position strong enough that no one would dare question their choice of mate.

He should have done what he’d set out to do, given Sigurd the freedom to have whoever _he_ wanted, this time.

The freedom to have Ubba.

“Sigurd,” Eivor began, suddenly moved to say something, _anything_. To apologise, or to soothe, or…

“I wish us to marry Basim only if it is what _you_ want,” Eivor said. “It would break my heart if you settled for less than what yours needs.”

“I only need you,” Sigurd said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Eivor’s ear, mirroring his earlier gesture of comfort and affection.

Eivor’s heart swelled painfully in his chest. How could he let Sigurd have anything less than everything he wanted? He would never forgive himself if Sigurd were unhappy.

“You love Ubba,” Eivor said, and as soon as he spoke the words he saw the change in Sigurd, _felt_ it.

It was true.

Sigurd had fallen for Ubba, and they were both about to lose everything. Everything they’d gained since they came here, the small handful of things they still had for themselves.

“You _love_ Ubba,” Eivor repeated, frustration in his voice now. Why had Sigurd not said so? Put a stop to all this?

The hand on Eivor’s side tightened, almost to the point of pain, but then Sigurd took a breath and eased his grip, smoothing Eivor’s nightshirt back into place in silent apology.

“How could I not?” Sigurd asked, raising his gaze again so that Eivor could see the shine of tears in his eyes. “But he is not enough. You know that. I know that.”

“Sigurd.” Eivor forced himself to ease out a shaky breath to stop himself from sobbing at the sudden jolt of pain in his chest. He shuffled forward, pressing his forehead to Sigurd’s, cupping the back of Sigurd’s skull to hold him in place.

What would happen to them if Sigurd’s heart was broken again? He still hadn’t recovered from the last time, and the thought of losing him, _truly_ losing him, losing the person Sigurd was, even if his physical body was still present, stole the breath from Eivor’s lungs until he choked on a sob.

“Eivor,” Sigurd responded, his own hand coming up to cover Eivor’s neck, calm and steady.

Eivor sniffed, and felt like a child again, crying in Sigurd’s arms over the loss of his parents.

Sigurd had borne so much of his grief, so much of his suffering. It was unconscionable to ask him for more.

And yet a sob welled up in Eivor’s chest, and he was too weak to stop it.

“ _Eivor_ ,” Sigurd repeated, soft and indulgent.

Eivor only cried harder, grief at the thought that he had not done this one thing for Sigurd, that he had _failed_ , again, to protect him. To repay him for everything he’d done, everything he’d been to Eivor their whole lives.

Sigurd shushed him gently, kissing tears away as they fell, murmuring soothing nonsense as Eivor imagined him despondent and miserable all over again in a new marriage he didn’t want, heart broken from having to leave someone he loved behind because once again, Sigurd had no control over his life. Fate forced him into things he did not want, and Eivor had failed to stop it.

“Tell me what I can do,” Sigurd said. “How will I make you smile again?”

Eivor sniffed, and looked up to meet Sigurd’s eyes.

“Do what your heart wants,” Eivor said. “Choose between Ubba and Basim, but choose thinking only of your own happiness. _Please_ ,” he added. “I will know if you have not, and my heart will be forever broken. I will never forgive you if you make your choice to suit me.”

Eivor would, of course, forgive him. He could think of nothing Sigurd might do that he would not forgive him for.

But this was too important to be gentle about.

“Eivor—” Sigurd began.

“Your happiness is my happiness,” Eivor said in a rush, cutting him off. “You know this to be true. You _know_ it, Sigurd. I will never be happy another day in my life if you are not. So if you must, think of my happiness, too. Choose for happiness. Promise me.”

Sigurd was silent for a moment, pale eyes searching Eivor’s face, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“All right,” he said after a long moment. “I promise. I will choose for happiness. Yours, and mine.”

“ _Yours_ and mine,” Eivor corrected.

“Is that not what I said?” Sigurd teased, a smile fighting its way past the heaviness of the moment.

Eivor huffed, but snuggled closer to Sigurd and allowed himself to relax into the familiar body, the warmth and scent he held so dear.

He could trust Sigurd. He _would_ trust Sigurd. Whatever he decided would be their path from now on.

“You are impossible,” he complained against Sigurd’s collarbone.

“Only improbable,” Sigurd said, with a thoughtful note to his tone. “And all the best things are.”


	10. Perhapses

Leofrith woke in a cold sweat—the sun already risen high—and forced himself out of bed with an involuntary groan as his shoulder chastised him for all that he’d done to it yesterday.

He had been haunted all night by visions of today. Of Eivor accepting Basim’s proposal, publicly, so there would be no backing down on either of their parts. Not, Leofrith thought, that Basim should have any _reason_ to do so. He had won himself a prize other men would give a great deal more than the promise of marriage for.

Eivor had asked him to be present, and Leofrith had not thought to refuse or ask why, but he woke with the absolute certainty that Eivor wanted him there because he was afraid.

He could not bear the thought of Eivor afraid.

He wished he had Maetild to speak to, to counsel him on what to do, but as far as he could see, there was only one possible course of action.

Already running late, he dressed with the speed of a man pursued by the hounds of hell themselves and rushed out into the street, hailing a smaller, faster carriage for hire than the one he kept, too big and slow to get him there in time.

Eivor would surely not accept Basim straight away. _Surely_.

As the pull of the horses took him away from home and toward the gallery—his watch telling him he had just _minutes_ to make it, having slept in and not thought to tell anyone to wake him—he considered what he might say once he arrived.

The plan in his mind was a simple one, but it was Leofrith’s experience that simple plans hit the smallest number of snags in the execution.

He could not see Eivor—or Sigurd—leaving the country with a man they barely knew to go far away where they had no one to look out for them.

He could not see Eivor going into marriage frightened— _truly_ frightened, not merely anxious or apprehensive of the unknown—when there was, in fact, something he could do about it.

_Eivor, I… I know I am not a worthy match for you as a husband, but as your friend I would like to offer you the protection you need, you and Sigurd both._

_You have been so welcome in my life._

_I would like to keep you in it._

The mere thought of trying to get the words out made sweat bead on the back of Leofrith’s neck. This was what he’d been afraid of, what he’d been trying to avoid. The possibility of public rejection, of humiliation, of his own inadequacies reflecting poorly on Maetild and her unborn child, of the whole world knowing his name but only because he had been spectacularly wounded in public by someone he could not hope to be good enough for.

But this was too important. Eivor’s friendship, his happiness, his safety and comfort were too important. The world would be a poorer place, Leofrith thought, if Eivor could no longer walk through it with a lightness to his step and laughter in his heart.

He may not have been the prince Eivor deserved, but surely a friend who would permit him to go on living his life as he pleased would be better than… than…

Than leaving England, and Ceolbert, and Ubba.

And Leofrith himself. He liked to believe—he _did_ believe—that he and Eivor were friends. Perhaps the very best of friends.

He thought of Eivor even when he did not intend to think of him. His smile, his laughter, the twinkle in his eyes when he spoke of things he ought not to have. The sweetness of his scent when he was happy, the bitterness when he was upset, the softness with which he’d kissed Leofrith at first—a kiss he had not yet stopped thinking about.

Perhaps he was a poor prospect for a prince—a man with no lineage, a newly-minted title, and social graces that left much to be desired.

And perhaps Leofrith was only fooling himself when he tried to pretend that his feelings were purely those of a friend. Perhaps he had done exactly what he had not intended to, what he had dreaded, what he had entered into this whole arrangement with Eivor to avoid.

Perhaps he had fallen in love.

And perhaps, if fate felt he was owed one reward for all of his pains—unlikely as that seemed—he would arrive before it was too late.

And Eivor would accept Leofrith’s offered heart into his soft, gentle hands, and neither of them would have to be afraid anymore.

❧

Eivor let his fingertips explore the softness of Basim’s beard, and with one last glance to be sure they wouldn’t be seen, leaned in to set his mouth over the prince’s.

A gentle kiss, lips barely parted, but even this was enough to send a thrill of want deep to the pit of Eivor’s belly, and a twinge of regret to his heart at what might have been.

He sighed as the kiss broke, sooner than he might have liked, but already too great a risk. He should not even have been unchaperoned with an alpha, let alone kissing him without at least a promise of marriage.

They were alone for now, in a hall of the gallery as-yet undiscovered by the small, exclusive party of invitees to the opening, but they could easily be stumbled on at any moment, at the moment when Eivor could least afford to have his reputation compromised.

When he came back to his senses, Basim peered at him curiously, waiting for an explanation.

“A parting gift,” Eivor said, and the sorrow in his voice was real. He did not fool himself that this would break Basim’s heart—the man already had a beautiful omega to console himself with.

But he did not like to refuse his kindness without acknowledging it, and he did feel he was giving up a grand adventure.

For Sigurd’s happiness, though, he would give up a great many more things.

“Ah,” Basim said, nodding in understanding, a sad smile softening his eyes.

“Sigurd and Ubba are planning to announce their engagement this morning,” Eivor said. “And if they weren’t, I’m afraid I would have to call Ubba out. Based on what I heard last night.”

Basim raised a curious eyebrow, a smile playing around his lips.

“ _All night,_ Basim!” Eivor complained, a weight lifting from his chest. He would call this man a friend, he thought, for many years to come. “I would slip into sleep as they exhausted themselves and then wake, _again_ , to hear… to hear… _gods_ it was maddening.”

Basim chuckled, a warm, pleasant sound that forced Eivor to smile and dissipated the awkwardness of the situation.

“Is it proper that you should share the knowledge that omegas can be pleasured at all?” Basim asked.

“I do not believe for a moment that you are not aware of many, many ways to pleasure an omega,” Eivor said. “And I sincerely regret that I will not have the opportunity to test this theory.”

“I would happily take you alone,” Basim purred. Still kind—Sigurd was the prize, Sigurd was who he’d fallen in love with, but Eivor believed that if he _did_ wish to go with him, that Basim would have accepted this. Would have given Eivor a home and a life, the shelter he needed, and perhaps even, one day, the love he pretended to himself that he did not want.

“I cannot—”

“Leave Sigurd, I know.” Basim sighed, but there was no reproach. “Besides, you would break Lord Mercer’s heart.”

“I have told you, Leofrith and I are—”

“Yes, yes, you have _told_ me,” Basim said, smiling again. “You are merely flirting. I am not so sure this is _his_ understanding of the situation.”

“You are impossible,” Eivor said, grinning even as he remembered Leofrith saying that to him, so long ago now. “He is not interested.”

“You are so certain,” Basim said, kind eyes searching Eivor’s face. “It would have been a joy to watch you blossom into the beautiful flower you are destined to be. But that will be someone else’s pleasure, and I envy them.”

“I thought your interest lay with Sigurd?” Eivor teased.

“Sigurd captured my heart the moment I saw him,” Basim admitted. “I do not think he understands how beautiful he is. But you have charmed my soul as well. I see in you a kindred spirit, and I wish you all the happiness in the world, Eivor.”

Eivor swallowed past the sudden lump of unhappiness in his chest. He would miss Basim, though he knew in his heart that a life with him was not his fate.

Still, it would have been a good life, and Eivor knew now that he would have been loved.

“I was never sure what to make of you, Basim,” Eivor said. “But I think I have the measure of you now.”

“Oh?” Basim asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Eivor laughed, unhappiness forgotten at the return of Basim’s playfulness.

He would make however many omegas he ended up with very happy. Truly. Hytham was lucky to have him.

“You have a softer heart than you pretend. There is a man under all that silk, a man of flesh and blood, and perhaps even that poet’s soul you accused me of having,” Eivor said.

“Kindred spirits,” Basim said, offering his arm. “Shall we go and conspicuously fail to announce our engagement?” he asked.

“We shall,” Eivor said, accepting it. “Promise me you’ll write, when you return home.”

“I promise. And should you ever change your mind…”

Eivor laughed. “I will appear on your doorstep and offer to beg on my knees for another chance.”

“There would be no need to beg,” Basim said, leading Eivor toward the larger hall where the rest of the guests were gathered. “There is always a place for you in my home.”

“You would not have me on my knees?” Eivor teased.

“Not nearly as often as you would have had me on mine.”

❧

“Eivor!” Leofrith hailed, out of breath after running from a block away, where his carriage had been forced to stop by an overturned flower cart, hope swelling in his chest at finding Eivor hanging back from the crowd, alone, and nowhere near Basim.

Eivor’s face lit up as he saw him, simple happiness written all over his pretty features.

“I must speak with you,” Leofrith said, stomach tied up in nervous knots at what he planned to do. “It is important.”

Eivor blinked at him. “Can it wait?”

Leofrith glanced over at Basim again, just in time to catch a brief exchange between him and Sigurd.

“If it is urgent, I will go with you,” Eivor continued. “But you would not wish to miss Ubba and Sigurd announcing their engagement.”

Ubba and Sigurd.

Ubba and Sigurd… announcing…

“Their what?” Leofrith asked, looking up again.

To see that Sigurd had moved away from Basim and now stood improperly close to Ubba, as though he might tuck himself under the older alpha’s arm if that would not be undignified—perhaps even if it would be.

“Their engagement,” Eivor chirped, beaming broadly.

“But…”

Eivor had said, had _told_ him, that Ubba would not do. That he was not enough, that he could not hope to guarantee their place here, since his own was tenuous enough to begin with.

“I know,” Eivor said, his serious tone not ruining the brightness of his mood. “You and I will have to redouble our efforts in finding me a suitable match. But Sigurd is happy.”

Of course.

Eivor’s entire design in doing all of this was to make Sigurd happy.

“What of Basim?” Leofrith asked, glancing over at the prince and his pretty omega.

“His offer was very kind,” Eivor said. “But Sigurd did not love him.”

“But you… you like Hytham,” Leofrith said, wondering what he was trying to accomplish by interrogating Eivor.

Eivor laughed. “You once told me you didn’t believe Basim deserved me,” he said.

“Because he does not love you,” Leofrith mumbled, relieved when Ubba called, with greater softness than Leofrith might have credited, for quiet.

Eivor’s attention turned instantly to Ubba and Sigurd, a gentle smile falling over his pretty features.

Leofrith half-listened as Ubba described his great pleasure in announcing that he was engaged to marry Sigurd, and that the wedding would go forward without delay. His heart was only now beginning to calm after the panic of the morning, his fear that he had been about to lose Eivor forever settling back.

Ubba was firmly settled in England and had given little indication that he might be moved to leave, since he had been, Leofrith now realised, one of the earliest affected by the fighting there. His home country and Eivor’s were nominally under one rule, but that was unstable, uncomfortable for both nations, and clearly produced a number of casualties.

Ubba had been a prince once, too. It was fitting that he should have Sigurd.

“He will have married twice before I have managed it once,” Eivor said wryly.

Leofrith knew Eivor well enough now to be certain that he did not begrudge Sigurd so much as an ounce of his happiness, but he _also_ knew Eivor well enough to know that it did, sincerely, bother him that he had not been successful in his quest to find his own mate.

There were interested parties—but they were not so interested that they had been game to fight a foreign prince for his hand, and now that interest had dropped off.

Sigurd’s happiness made Eivor’s position all the more urgent.

And yet now that Leofrith’s blood had cooled, he could not quite bring himself to make the offer he had planned to on his way here. He could hear, ringing in his ears, Eivor’s laughter. Not cruel—amused, sincerely amused, because the idea was so ridiculous that he would unquestionably think it a jest.

He wasn’t even an alpha to Eivor. He was friend and confidante and partner in their scheme, but that was all. Eivor had proven time and time again that he did not look at Leofrith and see an eligible alpha.

He did not see someone he could love, as Leofrith was beginning to realise he wanted more than he had ever credited. Watching Ubba and Sigurd fall for one another—the easy affection between them, the casual touches, the heat in both of their gazes when they believed themselves unobserved.

Leofrith had not thought himself likely to ever have those things, but now, as he watched Sigurd cling to Ubba’s arm and look up at him as though Ubba had handed him the moon and the stars, he _wanted_ them.

He wished, dearly, for an omega who might look at him like that.

When he turned to Eivor again, he was watching him curiously.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Eivor teased. “What could be troubling my Leofrith so?”

“I am turning my mind to potential suitors for you,” Leofrith said, which was almost the truth.

“Any present?” Eivor asked, looking around the crowd with interest.

Leofrith swallowed past a sudden pull in his throat.

“No,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“Then perhaps we can take this opportunity to make our escape,” Eivor said.

“You do not wish to see the exhibition?” Leofrith asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not understand art,” Eivor said. “But will of course suffer through it if you have been concealing a secret passion for Caravaggio from me?”

Leofrith snorted. “I could not tell a Caravaggio from a…” he paused to search his memory for the name of another painter, _any_ other painter. “Vermeer?”

Eivor grinned broadly at him. “I could, but I would not enjoy it. What I _would_ enjoy is cake and company,” he said, taking Leofrith’s yet-unoffered arm as though he were entitled to it.

Leofrith would, of course, not have dreamed of stopping him.

“You would abandon Ubba and Sigurd?” Leofrith asked.

“I spent the entire night listening to them… enjoying one another,” Eivor said wryly.

Leofrith’s cheeks heated as he caught Eivor’s meaning, and his attention snapped back to Ubba and Sigurd, jaw dropping.

Eivor tutted. “Such delicate sensibilities,” he teased. “Sigurd has already been married and therefore is not expected to be an innocent on his wedding day, his heats are obvious and predictable, and Ubba will not back out of a promise. It is harmless, except to my ability to sleep soundly,” he added, covering a delicate yawn with his hand as though to prove his point.

Leofrith was still unsure how to respond to this information. It was not unheard of, of course—it was little enough of a surprise when an omega delivered a perfectly healthy baby only a handful of months after their wedding vows that Leofrith’s parents had believed pregnancies were of variable lengths.

Modern medicine had since concluded that they were all approximately the same, and this discrepancy could be explained by youthful enthusiasm in the first blush of love.

It was simply an experience, having first-hand knowledge of such a thing going on.

“Then we must find you coffee and a quiet corner to drink it in,” Leofrith said, deciding not to think further on Ubba and Sigurd for the moment.

“If I cannot have sex,” Eivor began, louder than Leofrith might have wished. “I want chocolate.”

❧

It was because he’d been listening to Ubba and Sigurd all night, Eivor reasoned. Because he had sat by Sigurd this morning over breakfast and bathed his senses in Sigurd’s content, satisfied scent. Because he hadn’t been able to look away from the long, indulgent kiss Ubba had bestowed on Sigurd as he excused himself to dress.

That, Eivor was certain, was why his attention was fixated on Leofrith’s lips and tongue as they ate together, Ceolbert having abandoned them for a group of young omegas and betas he had been invited to join on the other side of the coffee house.

He sipped his hot chocolate and forced himself to look anywhere but at Leofrith as he licked cream off his thumb, which he naturally still saw out of the corner of his eye anyway.

“What was it you wanted to speak to me of?” Eivor asked as he remembered Leofrith’s urgency this morning, having forgotten all about it during the excitement of Ubba and Sigurd’s announcement and their ensuing escape.

“Pardon?” Leofrith asked, tongue darting out to catch a drop of coffee on his lower lip.

“This morning. You said you must speak to me, that it was important. What was it?”

“Oh, umm… it was… Maetild has entered her confinement early,” he said. “On doctor’s orders.”

Eivor’s heart sank. “Is she all right?”

“I think so,” Leofrith said, peering down into her coffee. “I hope so. Her letter seemed more annoyed than alarmed.”

“I too would be annoyed,” Eivor agreed. “I do not plan to enter any sort of confinement.”

“No?” Leofrith asked, eyebrow raised.

Eivor laughed. “That I can still surprise you is a wonder to me. No. No, a pregnant omega is not helpless. Unless I absolutely must, I will not put my life on hold before or after birthing a child for any longer than is necessary. Omegas who marry alphas set on a whole brood of children spend their lives in their bedrooms. I will not.”

“Now that I think of it, it no longer surprises me. You wish to have children, then?”

Now it was Eivor’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I am unlikely to have a choice,” he said.

Leofrith’s face fell. “Of course, my apologies.”

“It is not you who need apologise,” Eivor said. “You are not personally responsible for the position omegas hold in society.”

“You do not wish to have children, then?” Leofrith asked.

Eivor sipped his chocolate again. “You will think me ridiculous.”

“I already think you ridiculous.” Leofrith beamed across the table at him. “There is little you could say to change that.”

Eivor chuckled. “I was relieved every month when Sigurd failed to fall pregnant because I have always wanted to have my first child close in age to his, so that they might grow up together and have each other, always, as I have had him.”

Leofrith stared openly at him while Eivor hid his embarrassment at admitting to such sentimentality behind another mouthful of hot chocolate.

“I told you it was ridiculous,” Eivor said when Leofrith remained silent.

“It isn’t ridiculous,” Leofrith said softly. “It’s remarkably sweet.”

“You are surprised that I can be sweet?” Eivor arched his brow.

“Despite your every attempt to ensure that I would be by now,” Leofrith began. “No. I know you to be much sweeter than you allow the world to see. And I wish…”

“You wish?” Eivor prodded.

Leofrith sighed, draining the last of his coffee. “I wish you did not feel the need to hide it. I wish you had not been hurt such that you see it as a weakness,” he said. “I wish the world was kinder to you, Eivor.”

Eivor found himself once again forced to hide behind his cup, lest Leofrith see the softness of the look on his face, the sweet pain of being cared for, truly, by another person.

He began to fear that he was quite falling in love with Leofrith, the one alpha he could not have.

“You are kind to me,” Eivor said softly. “Kinder than I deserve. Perhaps that is enough.”

Perhaps it would be. Perhaps it was enough simply to call Leofrith his dearest and truest friend, and nothing other.

Perhaps this was one more heartache fate had planned for Eivor to bear.

Leofrith had not indicated that his opinion on marriage—that it was not a state he wished to enter into—had changed. In time, it was possible that it would, but time was a luxury Eivor had never had, and there was even less of it now. He needed a mate, and soon.

“Do you hunt, Leofrith?” Eivor asked, wanting to turn his mind away from that which he could not have and toward that which he must find.

“I suppose you will accuse me of sounding like a farmer, but I have never been accustomed to the kind of hunting I think you mean. I have hunted the occasional deer in the winter as need be, and shot a fox or two to stop them bothering the chickens.”

“You mean you poached the deer,” Eivor said, remembering once more that Leofrith was not accustomed to the life of a gentleman.

Leofrith looked down into his empty coffee cup, shoulders slumped, as though he was trying to shrink down to a more appropriate size.

“Aye,” Leofrith said, without meeting Eivor’s gaze.

Eivor reached out and covered Leofrith’s hand with his own, thumb stroking along his index finger. “I do not think less of you for it. I know you to be a good and honourable man, and I do not believe you would do this idly.”

“After our parents died, there simply wasn’t enough help around the farm,” Leofrith said. “That first winter we had so little. It was take the deer or watch Maetild starve.”

“You do not need me to tell you that one man’s dubiously-claimed property is nothing compared to your sister’s life,” Eivor said, squeezing Leofrith’s fingers. “I have not known your hardship, Leofrith, and I will not pretend to understand. I wish the world was kinder to you, as well.”

Leofrith huffed a wry laugh. “I have the friendship and company of a prince,” he said. “The Leofrith who poached that deer would not believe me if I could tell him about you.”

“The Leofrith who poached that deer would have had my help bringing it down, if only I had been lucky enough to know him.”

“You would have been a child,” Leofrith pointed out. “Though I suppose I should not be surprised that you know how to hunt.”

“No.” Eivor beamed at him. “But I enjoy that I can still surprise you.”

“I think, Eivor, that you should continue to surprise me until the day they lower me into the ground,” Leofrith said.

“Consider that one of my fondest wishes in life,” Eivor responded. “But now we must turn our minds to another hunt.”

“Ah yes, for your suitor,” Leofrith said, sitting back and taking his hand out from under Eivor’s.

Eivor missed the contact instantly, but sat back as well, ignoring the feeling.

“I believe we must approach this as a fox hunt, though I would not hunt a real fox,” Eivor said. “Unless, as you say, it was bothering my chickens.”

“This metaphor is becoming tangled, I fear,” Leofrith teased.

“Mock me all you like,” Eivor said. “But I must go to where the alphas are.”

Leofrith raised an eyebrow.

“I hear from Ubba that you were once a boxer of some repute,” Eivor said, watching as a blush crept up Leofrith’s neck. “You must take me to a match.”


	11. The Wash

Eivor bit viciously into his toast as the unmistakable sounds of Sigurd and Ubba making the most of their engagement reached him in the drawing room. The drawing room, which he had specifically chosen over the morning room, since it was further from Sigurd’s bedroom.

Evidently, they were in Ubba’s this morning.

Or perhaps the library.

Eivor wrinkled his nose.

Ceolbert was buried studiously in the morning paper and either deaf, or pretending to be.

Eivor sipped his tea, a wave of uncharitable grumpiness washing over him.

He was, in the depths of his heart, happy for Sigurd. Ecstatic for Sigurd. Thrilled that he had found a mate he wanted—and wanted, and, evidently _wanted_ , over and over, testing the limits of human endurance.

However, without a prospect of his own, or even a pretty omega to distract himself with, he would have been happier not _hearing_ it.

Really, Eivor was impressed. Not with Sigurd’s stamina, that he was already aware of, but Ubba’s. He had thought at first that Sigurd’s interest in Ubba was precisely because he was older, and would therefore be somewhat less demanding, happy to simply enjoy Sigurd’s companionship and perhaps negotiate the possibility of children with him.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

It was not, Eivor was beginning to conclude, that Sigurd did not enjoy alphas in principle. He was certainly enjoying _this_ alpha, and it was doing absolutely nothing to improve Eivor’s mood.

A small, selfish, childish part of him wanted his _own_ alpha to keep Sigurd up with.

“Lord Mercer for you, sir,” a footman at the door announced, followed by Leofrith striding inside in the emerald coat that Eivor felt showed off the broadness of his shoulders to best effect, the cut flattering his figure as befitted a man of his station.

Sigurd and Ubba, thankfully, had gone quiet.

“Leofrith,” Eivor enthused, pushing a chair at the breakfast table out for him with his foot. “Come, join us.”

Ceolbert, finally, looked up from his minute concentration on the morning paper.

“Something interesting in there?” Leofrith asked, taking the offered seat after only a moment’s hesitation and a nod of encouragement from Eivor.

“Hmm?” Ceolbert blinked at the two of them. “Oh, Leofrith. You’re here.”

“I think we must do the charitable thing and take Ceolbert with us today,” Eivor said. “Neither of us are inclined to spend any longer in this house than we must at the moment.”

Leofrith raised an eyebrow.

Ceolbert looked back to the now-folded newspaper with interest, the tips of his ears already pinkening.

Pretending to be deaf, then.

“Ubba and Sigurd,” Eivor began, pointing up at the ceiling. “Are… in love.”

Leofrith’s eyebrow inched higher.

“Eros has blessed them with boundless energy to express it,” Eivor said.

Now Leofrith frowned at him, apparently uncomprehending.

“They have not _ceased_ making preemptive use of their marital privileges in three days,” Ceolbert said, sharper than Eivor was used to hearing him.

But then there were dark circles under his eyes, and Eivor’s were being concealed by layers of cream and powder that he did not normally bother to touch. A measured dose of frustration was only to be expected.

Eivor was certainly… frustrated.

Leofrith looked up at the ceiling as though he might see through it into the bedchamber above, still frowning.

Eivor poured him a cup of tea, since they were in no hurry yet. Perhaps a demonstration wouldn’t go amiss.

“Have you eaten?” Eivor asked, preparing Leofrith’s tea exactly as he liked it without needing to be reminded. “There are some wonderful fresh scones in the kitchen.”

The thump of a wooden bedframe colliding with a hollow wall sounded unmistakably above.

Leofrith looked up at the ceiling again, horror painted plainly on his features.

Eivor poured tea for Ceolbert and himself in smug silence as Leofrith listened in shock to the building tempo of thumps and the occasional wordless cry coming from upstairs, building to a pair of low, satisfied moans and then a final creak—Ubba, Eivor determined, rolling onto the mattress. Sigurd was not so heavy and therefore not so loud.

He enjoyed Leofrith’s shock quietly as the stairs creaked under Ubba’s tread, and he and Sigurd appeared in the drawing room, draped hastily in their banyans.

The soft, melting look in Sigurd’s eyes, however, made Eivor squirm. Ubba wore a matching one, molten heat and warm affection swirling in his gaze as he looked at Sigurd with the air of a man who could hardly believe what he had and would not let it go without a fight.

They were happy.

“Leofrith,” Sigurd said, tongue tripping lazily over the awkward syllables.

Leofrith started, glancing over at Sigurd but not quite meeting his eyes. “Sigurd, Ubba. Good, umm. Morning.”

“It _is_ a good morning,” Sigurd said, trailing his hand over the back of Leofrith’s chair as he swung around the table and plopped himself down beside Eivor. His scent spoke of happiness, calm, satisfaction, and against all reason, arousal. Still.

It spoke well of Ubba’s performance, Eivor thought.

Perhaps Sigurd could be moved to share. He was certainly in a good enough mood to tend toward indulgence.

But then Eivor would not ask for a piece of the happiness he had found for himself. Especially not so soon, when it was still uncertain he would get to keep it.

“Leofrith,” Ubba greeted belatedly, and some part of Eivor was gratified to see that he, too, was sporting a tired look about him.

Perhaps they had nearly exhausted themselves.

“Ubba,” Leofrith nodded to him, blushing all the way up his neck now.

Eivor hid a grin behind his teacup as Ubba settled directly across from Leofrith, beside Sigurd, and Sigurd instantly flopped against him, letting Ubba take his weight.

“You are taking Eivor away from us today?” Ubba asked as Eivor poured tea for him and Sigurd, earning himself a grateful look from each of them.

Their happiness was as beautiful as it was loud, and Eivor found he could not sincerely begrudge them it. No matter how tired he was.

“And Ceolbert,” Eivor spoke up. “So you will have the place entirely to yourselves.”

Sigurd snorted, but slid his hand into Eivor’s under the table and squeezed lightly.

_I haven’t forgotten you_ , it seemed to say.

Not that Eivor was worried that he would, but he appreciated the tiny gesture of reassurance all the same.

“You will come to the wedding, of course?” Sigurd asked, straightening to drink his tea.

“I… well, if… you would like me there?” Leofrith stammered, as though he did not know his place as one of their dearest friends was well and truly secure.

Even Ubba, who was in a strange position in society and therefore had few people he could count as true friends. He was as glad of Leofrith’s company as any of them.

“We would,” Ubba confirmed. “We would be honoured if you attended.”

“I would be honoured to attend,” Leofrith said, blinking over the rim of his teacup. He and Ubba both dwarfed the fine china, so that the cups looked like a child’s toy in their hands.

Sigurd’s smile might have outshone the sun.

“Not this coming Saturday, but the one after it,” Sigurd said. “I’m sure Eivor will keep you up to date.”

“I am certain I will,” Eivor said, draining the last of his tea as he saw Leofrith do so. “We should go,” he said. “I would not like to miss anything important.”

❧

Leofrith had made it clear to Eivor that if at any point he was uncomfortable, there would be no shame in saying so. That he was happy to escort him outside at any time if things became too intense, or the press of shouting alphas made him anxious, or for any reason at all.

He had not expected Eivor to sit next to him on the hard wooden benches beneath them squirming and gasping with excitement over every blow, eyes wide as he watched with his fingers clenched so tightly in his breeches that the knuckles were pure white.

At the first gasp he had looked over in concern, primed to soothe or comfort.

Discovering that Eivor was apparently the most bloodthirsty person in the room should not, he reflected, have been a surprise. He shouldn’t have been surprised by anything about Eivor any longer.

And yet, here they were.

Eivor shuffled closer as the second match of the day got underway, both hands gripping Leofrith’s arm as he bounced with excitement, whispered, breathy _yes_ es and _get him_ s escaping him, the thrill clearly too much to be contained.

Perhaps _this_ was why omegas did not generally attend boxing matches, Leofrith thought. He could certainly imagine Sigurd equally enthralled, and now that he thought about it, Maetild, too.

“This is exciting,” Eivor murmured next to him as the two contenders broke to take a breath and a word of advice from their coaches. “Do you come often?”

“I will escort you if you wish to attend more often,” Leofrith said. He did not like the thought of Eivor being brought here by another alpha, one he did not trust. Ubba would be all right, but Ceolbert had not blossomed into the fullness of his alphahood yet, and while he was sweet and clearly very fond of Eivor, apt to defend him if need be, he could not fend off unwanted attention by his mere presence.

Leofrith could.

He had rarely felt cause to use his size and strength to intimidate before he’d met Eivor, but now it was becoming a frequent occurrence. The surprise in this—and Eivor would, he thought, _truly_ never stop surprising him—was that he did not mind.

In defence of Eivor, he would have done much worse than straighten his shoulders and pull himself up to his full height, or tilt his head to expose his scent glands to warn others off.

“But you do not come here yourself,” Eivor said perceptively. “Do you not enjoy it?”

“It reminds me of… of…” Leofrith struggled to find words that would not make Eivor feel as though he had done something wrong.

The thought of attending a boxing match had not appealed to him since he returned from the Peninsular campaign injured out of service, ill and sore and feeling generally sorry for himself. Except now, with Eivor, it failed to bother him at all.

There was something, he thought, to be said for having the prettiest omega in England on his arm at any event. Even this one, where he had expected to feel that same loss that had always made the pit of his stomach feel hollow when he was reminded of the things from his old life that no longer had a place in his new one.

“Your shoulder?” Eivor asked when Leofrith failed to finish his sentence.

“Of that which I can no longer have,” Leofrith said. “I _was_ a promising boxer once.”

“And now you are a war hero so valiant, brave, and clever that the king himself made you a duke,” Eivor said. “Your martial talents are well and truly proven.”

“Aye, but this is a _fair_ fight,” Leofrith said. “There is nothing fair about war.”

“No,” Eivor said quietly. “No, there is not.”

Silence fell between them then, but Leofrith did not miss Eivor shuffling a touch closer, close enough that their thighs brushed together as he moved. His heart didn’t miss it either, speeding up and jumping into his throat at the slightest provocation.

He would have to give it a stern talk about appropriate reactions to appropriate people. The fact that Eivor felt so _safe_ around him, trusted him so utterly, was precious to him. Too precious to risk losing by doing something foolish.

Suddenly, Eivor stiffened, his hands tightening around Leofrith’s arm once more, body tight as a bowstring.

“Eivor?” Leofrith asked, looking to him in alarm. It was not the fighting, it was something else.

“Ivarr,” Eivor hissed under his breath.

Leofrith whipped around to scan the crowd, searching for the familiar scarred face among them.

“Where was he?” Leofrith asked.

“He… I no longer see him,” Eivor said, slumping. “He _was_ there,” he added.

“I believe you,” Leofrith said, without giving any consideration to whether or not he did. On the one hand, it made a kind of sense that Eivor might see this particular spectre—he still had no offer of marriage, and this whole business had been entered into for the purpose of keeping Ivarr—and his ilk—at bay.

On the other hand, Eivor was not prone to flights of fancy. He was perhaps the most reasonable person Leofrith had ever met. Ivarr had reason to be back in town, as well—his brother was getting married.

Regardless of the truth of the matter, he was frightened. That was sincere, and that, Leofrith decided, was all that mattered.

“Shall we go?” he asked softly.

Eivor bit his lip, still clinging to Leofrith’s arm.

“We ought not cause a scene,” he said. “Ivarr would not dare approach with so many eyes on him, surely.”

“Surely,” Leofrith agreed, though he was not necessarily certain.

Ivarr _loved_ a scene, and it would do him no particular harm to cause one. Only Eivor.

Leofrith set his jaw and promised himself that he would not allow Eivor to come to any further harm at Ivarr’s hands. The man had done enough damage.

“What is he doing here?” Eivor asked, understandably not yet settled. He would likely be on edge until they reached the safety of Leofrith’s carriage now.

“Ivarr is an accomplished boxer himself,” Leofrith said. “We have faced each other a small handful of times. He was eventually banned from the sport for concealing a piece of glass in his fist.”

Eivor stared openly at him, and Leofrith realised he ought not to have told him that last part. He was already frightened, there was no call to frighten him further with idle talk.

“In a fight against you?” Eivor asked, gripping Leofrith’s arm tighter than ever.

“No,” Leofrith said. “No, not against me.”

Leofrith did not add that Ivarr’s opponent had been unfortunate enough to lose most of his ear as a result. Eivor could have handled hearing it, he thought, but it would serve no purpose to tell him. He already understood Ivarr to be dangerous.

“Good,” Eivor said, turning his focus ostensibly back to the fight—though Leofrith doubted it would hold his attention now.

Unsure what to say after that point, Leofrith spoke fewer than five words before the match ended, and though Eivor had come here in search of suitable alphas—and had caught plenty of attention for it—he suggested moving on for the purposes of afternoon tea.

Knowing that nothing cheered Eivor like the restorative powers of cake, Leofrith agreed readily, and soon had Eivor and Ceolbert herded into his carriage for a trip across town to tea rooms that had been recommended to him as delightful. More importantly—they were across town, far away from Ivarr.

Only moments after the carriage took off, Eivor slumped against Leofrith’s shoulder, a soft snore escaping him and demonstrating that he had fallen quite entirely asleep.

“Oh,” Ceolbert said softly. “He looks quite angelic in sleep, doesn’t he?”

Leofrith snorted. He couldn’t see, but he didn’t doubt Ceolbert’s assessment, either. Eivor did tend to _look_ like an angel, he had a way of softening his eyes so as to tempt a saint. It was a genuine wonder to Leofrith that he didn’t have dozens of offers of marriage.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was decidedly _not_ an angel, though no one who Eivor wished to conceal this from would have known it. Leofrith was trusted with the secret that Eivor was much like everyone else, flawed, and occasionally difficult, and possessed of a vice or two.

But he was also sweet and kind, thoughtful, educated and clever, possessed of a wicked sense of humour and a heart full to bursting with love for Sigurd—and Ubba, and Ceolbert.

“Tell the driver to take us back to Lothbrok House,” Leofrith murmured. “Quietly, now.”

Ceolbert nodded and leaned out of the open window to speak, as directed, quietly to the driver. The gentle turn of the carriage down the next street served to leave Eivor resting more heavily against Leofrith’s shoulder, but even as the ridge of his cheekbone pressed into the joint, Leofrith could not bring himself to be even the faintest bit annoyed.

❧

“And then he carried you inside as though you weighed no more than his coat,” Sigurd said, passing Eivor a much-needed cup of tea as he blinked sleepily in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. He had chosen a room on this side of the house specifically because he was not an early riser and resented that the sun should try to make one of him, never expecting to be in it at this time of day.

“I must cut my hair, change my name, and leave the country,” Eivor said, holding his tea close to his chest. “Lest I die of embarrassment when we next pass each other in the street.”

Sigurd snorted, lounging languidly along what Eivor still thought of as _his_ side of the bed, though they had not regularly shared once since they were children visiting one another. He still kept to his own side, in case Sigurd came to join him in the night—and he knew, if he slipped into Sigurd’s room when it was not occupied by Ubba, that the opposite side of Sigurd’s bed would be free for him.

“I do not think it needs to come to that,” Sigurd said. “He was very considerate. Very concerned about your wellbeing. I expect you’ll see him tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not certain he’ll come back in the morning ever again,” Eivor said wryly. “After hearing you and Ubba over breakfast.”

Sigurd blushed, but did not look nearly as ashamed as he might have done. “Perhaps it helped in putting him in the mood to propose,” Sigurd said, sipping his tea.

“Leofrith isn’t going to propose,” Eivor said, and to his surprise, he managed not to sound at all bitter about it.

“Of course he is,” Sigurd said, as though it didn’t bear discussion at all. “He is simply waiting for his moment.”

“He is not,” Eivor said.

Perhaps he should have lied, agreed with Sigurd, let him believe that Leofrith really was on the verge of proposing. That they were close to having everything they needed, and that Eivor would not have to marry someone distasteful to him. That he and Leofrith were in love and eager to be wed and bask in the same happiness that Sigurd had found, and that Sigurd had nothing to worry about. His continued happiness was assured, and he would not lose any of it.

“Eivor, everyone in London knows that he has been courting you all season long. At every social event the two of you have attended, he has had eyes only for you. He has not so much as danced with another omega—not even _me_. Only a dishonourable man would fail to propose now.”

“Leofrith’s honour is beyond reproach,” Eivor said, and immediately wished he could swallow the words back down before they reached Sigurd’s ears.

Sigurd arched an eyebrow, as was to be expected.

“If he has led you on for so long, his honour is far from beyond reproach,” Sigurd said. “There is flirting and then there is _courting_ , and Leofrith has been doing the latter. You must expect a proposal soon, or I have gravely misjudged him.”

Eivor swallowed a sip of tea thickly and set the cup aside, the china clattering together as his hands shook.

“Eivor?” Sigurd asked, eyes widening in concern.

For the second time in the space of a week, the hot salt of tears stung at Eivor’s eyes. “Leofrith does not love me,” he said, stomach bottoming out as he uttered the words aloud for the first time.

It was the truth. Leofrith did not love him, and certainly did not wish to marry him, or he would have made himself known by now. He could have solved all of Eivor’s problems with one gesture, but the _idea_ of being married to him was clearly repulsive.

And why shouldn’t it be? Leofrith knew all of Eivor’s secrets. He had not presented Leofrith with the perfectly-mannered prince Eivor had to be to secure an alpha who would choose to protect himself and Sigurd. He had shown Leofrith what lay beneath—his insecurities, his vices, his scars, the things that made him flawed and difficult and warned of the trouble he’d be as a mate.

No one would ever want the person Eivor really was under the veneer of royalty, the heartbroken, exiled prince who was only human under all his layers of silk and powder.

The bedclothes rustled under Sigurd as he moved, and for one awful moment Eivor worried that he would leave, that he would simply go to Ubba and leave Eivor to cry himself to sleep as he’d had to when Sigurd had been married to Randvi.

But then a moment later he was being pulled into Sigurd’s arms, folded against his chest, his hair and neck stroked by familiar fingers and he sobbed all the harder for his selfishness, for his doubt.

“Why do you say that?” Sigurd asked softly. “Has he… did… Eivor, you know I would not think less of you if…”

Eivor shook his head. He understood what Sigurd was asking, if Leofrith was one of those cruel alphas who would take an omega to bed and then discard them once they had gotten what they wanted, or the moment they fell inconveniently pregnant.

It was impossible to imagine him as such. He could _never_.

It was Eivor who was at fault. Who had always _been_ at fault. Who had no mate and no prospects because his tongue was too sharp, and he was too headstrong, and he was not soft or easy to be with, and would only bring more misery than he could ever be worth.

“Then why these tears?” Sigurd asked. “Leofrith adores you. All of London knows it.”

“Because we arranged to make them believe it!” Eivor said, stomach turning over unpleasantly as the words tumbled past his lips.

Sigurd paused a moment, but to his credit, recovered quickly. “Perhaps you could explain this arrangement to me?”

“Leofrith does not wish to marry,” Eivor said. “After we fought at Ubba’s ball, no one would so much as speak to me, you remember? Then everything happened with Ivarr, and I convinced him that it was all his fault I had to seriously consider such a man as a potential mate, and you would have to marry Halfdan even though you were already falling for Ubba, and he agreed to help me.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Sigurd said.

“We have been pretending to be attached to make me a more attractive prospect,” Eivor explained. “Because he could have anyone, and if he wanted _me_ , then I would look like a good marriage prospect instead of a liability who also shouts in public.”

Sigurd nuzzled Eivor’s hair, breathed in deeply, and then sighed the sigh of one who was not remotely surprised to learn that someone very close to them was a greater fool than they had previously imagined.

“Why not tell me before?” Sigurd asked. “You know I would have kept your secret.”

“I wanted you to be happy,” Eivor said, pulling back to look Sigurd in the eye. “I didn’t want you to know the lengths I was going to. I _still_ don’t want you to know. You should be happy now, you deserve this.”

Sigurd’s hands moved to frame Eivor’s neck, his thumbs rubbing tiny, soothing circles in front of his ears. “My happiness would be hollow if it did not include yours, Eivor,” he said.

Eivor bit his lip, tears welling up in his eyes again. There was more he wanted to say, so much more, but he lacked the strength.

“You love him,” Sigurd said.

It was not a question.

“No,” Eivor responded anyway, the word sticking in his throat.

Sigurd smiled softly. “My Eivor who would never give his heart to an alpha,” he said fondly. “It aches, doesn’t it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Eivor said. “How do people stand it?”

Sigurd laughed softly. “I had the good fortune to fall in love with a less foolish alpha.”

Eivor wrinkled his nose. “It is not Leofrith who is foolish,” he mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed as Sigurd’s fingers crept up to his scalp, massaging lightly.

“He is if he lets you get away,” Sigurd said. “That would be unforgivably foolish of him. But he will not.”

“It isn’t _real_ , Sigurd,” Eivor complained. “It has never been real. We are dear friends, but nothing… nothing else. I had to beg him to kiss me,” Eivor added with a bitter laugh.

“He kissed you?” Sigurd asked, running his hands down one of Eivor’s braids to begin unravelling it. “Today?”

“No,” Eivor said. “No, it was after Basim proposed. I… I had never kissed an alpha, and I wanted the first one to be my choice.”

“And Leofrith was your choice,” Sigurd said. “And now you tell me that this has all been pretend, that none of it was real?”

Eivor snorted as Sigurd’s practiced fingers unbraided his hair. “We agreed it was not real. Leofrith has had ample opportunity to make his feelings known if they were other than friendship.”

“So have you. Yet you have not done so,” Sigurd pointed out, combing his fingers through the unbraided portion of Eivor’s hair. “And you are normally so forward.”

“Yes, but this time it _means_ something. I would not be flirting, I would not be seducing. I would be showing him the broken, bloodied mess of my heart and hoping he did not recoil in horror. It could mean losing the only friend I’ve made since I came here.”

“Ubba and Ceolbert are not your friends?” Sigurd asked.

“They are family,” Eivor said, waving him away. “Leofrith is…”

“Also family,” Sigurd said. “You can say it. We all think it. He fits. He fits with you, he fits with _us_.”

“I suppose Ubba would be thrilled,” Eivor teased.

“He would, but that is not the point,” Sigurd said. “I think you are being unfair to Leofrith. If _you_ are afraid of making your feelings known, imagine how afraid he is.”

“Why should he be afraid?” Eivor asked, letting his eyes fall closed as Sigurd moved behind him on the bed to work on the rest of his hair.

“Why should he not? You are terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Eivor laughed. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Sigurd said. “Even Ubba is afraid of you.”

“Ubba afraid of _me_?” Eivor scoffed. “Now I know you’re making this up.”

“I swear on my own life that I am not,” Sigurd said. “You are intimidating. And you _did_ shout at Leofrith when he first met you.”

Eivor’s shoulders slumped. He had shouted, that was true, and Leofrith had treated him so delicately for so long after.

“But why should he love me? What is there to love?”

“I cannot allow you to speak of my beloved Eivor so,” Sigurd said, scratching lightly at Eivor’s scalp to ease the tension out of it. “You have many appealing qualities when you aren’t being intimidating.”

“I am very pretty,” Eivor said.

“You are,” Sigurd agreed. “And you are sweet. Accomplished. Full of life and joy. Sharp-witted, independent, unafraid to be exactly who you are. Rewarding to spend time with.” Sigurd’s hands slid down Eivor’s back, then moved to splay over his belly. “Possessed of a body _made_ for pleasure,” he murmured next to Eivor’s ear.

A shiver rolled down Eivor’s spine despite his trying to resist it.

“Would Ubba approve of you saying such things to me?” Eivor asked.

“Ubba knows a portion of my heart will always be reserved for you,” Sigurd said. “He is content to share,” he added, brushing his lips over Eivor’s neck.

“Perhaps we ought to take a leaf from Basim’s book,” Eivor said. “And both marry Ubba. He certainly seems to have the stamina for it.”

“Gods, he _does_ ,” Sigurd said, and with just the mention of Ubba, Eivor caught the faintest scent of arousal from Sigurd.

He longed to bury his nose in Sigurd’s neck, breathe that scent in, and forget all about the claim Leofrith had on his heart. Unfortunately, he knew himself well enough to be certain that it would only make him more miserable.

“I marvel that you are not too sore to walk,” Eivor teased.

“We have not, ah…” Sigurd trailed off, untangling another braid. “Consummated our match in the way you imagine.”

“No?” Eivor asked, surprised. “Because I have heard…”

“We have been together like omegas are,” Sigurd explained. “With our hands and mouths. He is content to wait for that as well.”

“Until you are married?” Eivor asked, surprised again. He had told Leofrith there was no reason for them to wait, and there wasn’t, not really.

“Until I am in heat,” Sigurd corrected, and Eivor began to understand. “I have told him everything, and he wants to wait. To see what will feel best between us. My heart aches to think of how kind he has been to me, Eivor. I love him.”

Something softened in Eivor’s chest at hearing that. One of the walls around his heart beginning to crumble, perhaps, with the knowledge that Ubba was a good alpha.

Leofrith, too, would be a good alpha. That, Eivor was certain of.

“And you deserve him,” Eivor said, covering the hand still on his belly with his own and squeezing. “I am glad you chose him.”

“I would be very glad if you chose Leofrith,” Sigurd murmured in Eivor’s ear. “We should each have kind, handsome alphas with enough stamina to keep us thoroughly satisfied,” he added, nipping lightly at Eivor’s earlobe.

Eivor laughed, buoyed by Sigurd’s cheerful mood. He was a joy when he was happy, and Eivor now regretted that he had ever tried to avoid him. Even in defence of his own sanity.

“I begin to think you wish me to pursue Leofrith because you believe I will share him with you.”

“Well…” Sigurd trailed off, pressing his nose into the crook of Eivor’s neck now that his hair was all hanging loose.

Eivor laughed again, the weight on his heart beginning to lift.

“I would share,” Eivor promised. “I think Leofrith is frightened of you, though.”

“I did tell him I would eat his heart if he hurt you,” Sigurd responded.

Eivor leaned back against him, letting the headboard take both of their weights, turning his head to nuzzle Sigurd’s neck and indulge in his scent as he had wished to do moments ago.

“He probably believes you would,” Eivor said.

“He should, I meant it.”

Eivor smiled against Sigurd’s neck, then wriggled to rearrange them both so they could cuddle together. He expected to be called for supper soon, but they would have a few moments of each other.

It had only been a handful of days, but Eivor had missed Sigurd. Their flight to England had gifted them with as much time to spend together as they could ever have wanted, Eivor’s fondest wish since the day of Sigurd’s first marriage. He had been spoiled.

Ubba would not take Sigurd away as Randvi had—or rather, as Sigurd’s father had insisted she should, unhappy with Sigurd’s attachment to Eivor, the adopted orphan he had taken in out of a sense of obligation who wasn’t good enough for his _real_ son.

But Eivor had been afraid, and he had carried that fear for days, and Sigurd’s familiar scent and warm body soothed it.

“Do you truly think he could love me?” Eivor asked after a moment of basking in Sigurd’s presence. “Leofrith, I mean.”

“He does love you,” Sigurd said. “Leofrith is many things, but he is not a gifted actor. He could barely tell a lie if his life depended on it. And he would have no cause to look at you with such tenderness in his eyes when you are not watching with only me to see it.”

Eivor bit his lip. Sigurd might well have been exaggerating, but then, why should he? Teasing aside, he had no reason to back Leofrith over any other possible mate.

Except that he loved Eivor, and wished him to be happy.

And therefore, perhaps, was in a better position to see another’s feelings for him.

“Is it worth the risk?” Eivor asked.

“Love?” Sigurd asked, raising an eyebrow. “Has it not always been worth the risk before?”

Eivor swallowed. He had always felt assured of Sigurd’s love. This was different.

“Do you wish to wake years from now, wed to another alpha and carrying their child, and wonder what it might have been like? Would you not regret never knowing? If you marry another, you may never see him again in any case. Shouldn’t you try for the thing you most want? I do not think of you as a coward, Eivor.”

“No, merely a fool.” Eivor smiled wryly at saying what Sigurd would not.

His stomach still objected to the thought of confessing his true feelings to Leofrith, but his heart yearned for it. To take Leofrith aside, hold his broad, gentle hand, and ask to keep him always. To hear him say that he would very much like to be Eivor’s mate, and that they should get married as soon as possible and waste no more time than they had.

To sneak him up to this bedroom and taste his mouth again, feel the work-rough callouses of his hands against his most sensitive skin, feel the weight of his body pressing him down into the mattress.

Sigurd chuckled. “If merely _thinking_ of him makes you smell like this, then yes, I do think you a fool. Trust me, Eivor. He will be everything you imagine and more.”

Eivor buried his face in the crook of Sigurd’s neck and huffed.

“I will speak to him,” he decided with a surge of confidence. “After your wedding.”

“ _At_ my wedding,” Sigurd said. “You may wait until Ubba and I have left if you must.”

“Left?” Eivor asked.

“He is taking me to an inn for our wedding night,” Sigurd said. “To save your ears, I think. It does mean you will have the place to yourself.”

“Except for Ceolbert,” Eivor pointed out.

“Ceolbert would keep the secret if you murdered the king in front of him,” Sigurd said. “He adores you.”

“And I him.” Eivor smiled at the thought of the young alpha who would one day grow up to be like Ubba and Leofrith, good and kind and a worthy mate for any who might catch his eye.

“Promise me you will speak to Leofrith? I would like to come back from my wedding night to plan _your_ wedding.”

“I promise I will speak to him,” Eivor said. “And confess all.”


End file.
